


Whumptober 2018 Ficlets

by LadyWallace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean, Hurt Jack, Hurt Sam, Hurt/Comfort, Whumptober, Whumptober 2018, everyone gets whumped, gen - Freeform, physical and mental pain, probably more characters to be added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-07-29 10:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 35,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16262132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWallace/pseuds/LadyWallace
Summary: Ficlets for this year's Whumptober prompts. Lots of whumpage all around to all of our boys.





	1. Day One: Stabbed

It was a dark night, a desperate chase through the woods. Sam's breaths heaved in his chest as his feet pounded against the ground. Dean was somewhere to his left, trying to cut off the vampire before it could get away.

He saw a flash between two trees in front of him, and veered in that direction, his machete held at the ready.

He saw the vampire. He swung, but at the last minute, it dodged. There was the flash of steel in the night and then a fiery pain went through his core.

Sam gasped, jolting to a halt with faltering steps. He looked down, confused at seeing the blade sticking from his middle. The moonlight illuminated it and the red stain spreading over his shirt.

Sam's knees gave out and a cold chuckle sounded above him as he slumped against the trunk of a tree.

"Your blood smells delicious, Winchester," the vampire sneered, encroaching upon him. "It will be a pleasure to suck you dry."

Another flash of steel, and more blood, but this time the vampire's. It's head fell to one side, as it's body toppled in the other direction, revealing Dean.

"Sam, Sammy." Dean's features were desperate, his hands cradling Sam's head as he fought through the shock. Dean had seen the knife, and was looking for a way to fix this. His brother could fix this, Sam was sure.

"You're okay, it's gonna be fine," Dean rambled, with that familiar false smile on his face.

"D'n," Sam tried, but his tongue was heavy. He reached out a clumsy hand to Dean, trying to clutch at his shirt, but he couldn't make his fingers work. Dean took his hand instead, squeezing it as he eased Sam back.

"You're good, don't talk, you're gonna be okay," Dean assured him, hands suddenly searching his wound and Sam felt a stabbing pain rip through his stomach. He cried out, the pain finally showing up, the shock gone.

"I know, I know, but we gotta keep pressure on this," Dean murmured, free hand fumbling in his pocket for his phone. "Bobby? Yeah, Sammy's hurt, I need help."

His face just barely broke, showing the cracks that were threatening to break through, and then he was back in big brother mode, his face reassuring as he reached out and stroked Sam's hair from his face. "Hey, stay with me, okay? Bobby's gonna be here soon, and we're gonna get you to a hospital. You hear me? Sammy! Stay with me. Come on, little brother."

Sam wanted to, he really did, but every breath he drew made pain rip through him and he could feel his blood seeping out, taking his strength with it. He couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. As much as he didn't want to disappoint Dean, he just couldn't.

"Sammy!" he heard Dean cry as if from far away as he let himself slip into the darkness.

XXX

The next time he woke he was comfortable, and there was no longer moonlight, only the harsh florescent bulbs above him. Sam cringed and shifted on the bed as he tried to take in his surroundings.

Definitely a hospital. It was not uncommon for hunts to end here. It was almost comforting in a way; it meant that they had defeated the monster and they could have a few days of rest.

The other constant was Dean, sitting in the chair by his side, currently slumped so that his head was resting next to Sam's shoulder on the bed, obviously too exhausted to stay awake, but too stubborn to leave. Sam was glad he hadn't, he hated waking up in hospitals alone, and Dean knew that well enough.

"D'n," he tried, but his mouth was dry. He shifted on the bed and winced, letting out a small gasp, as one hand fluttered clumsily to his stomach.

But that was enough for his big brother. Dean's head shot up, eyes wide with worry first, before he saw that Sam was awake, and then the worry began to fade a little from his features.

"Sammy," he sighed in relief, squeezing his shoulder firmly. "God it's good to see you awake."

"How long?" Sam asked groggily.

"You've been out for almost thirty-six hours now." Dean said, that pinch of worry back on his face. "You lost a lot of blood and you had internal injuries. They uh…they said you almost crashed on the table."

Sam swallowed hard, hating to see the worry come back to Dean's eyes, but he would be okay now.

"Didn't really expect a vamp to stab me," Sam said, trying to put a little wry humor into his voice. "More worried about it's teeth."

Dean huffed. "Yeah, well, that's why you can't always trust them to follow the rules." He reached over to the table beside Sam and took up a cup. "Ice chips?"

Sam nodded and allowed Dean to feed him several until his mouth was a little less dry, then he was exhausted, eyes heavy.

Dean squeezed his shoulder again. "Go to sleep, Sammy. I'm not going anywhere."

Sam let out a breath of relief and allowed himself to close his eyes and fall asleep under the protection of his big brother. Eventually, they would have to get back to work, but for now, he would enjoy the rest.


	2. Day Two: Bloody Hands

"It hurts," Jack said miserably, his face scrunched up in pain.

"I know." Castiel gave him a sympathetic look as he took in the sight of the boy's hands. Jack was still getting used to being mortal and it was not an easy ride—Castiel knew that better than anyone. He had been just as shocked as Jack just how bad things hurt when you were human. He honestly didn't know how Sam and Dean could stand being injured so frequently.

"Why does it feel so bad?" Jack asked, wincing as Castiel dabbed a warm, damp cloth over the raw flesh of his palms.

"Hands are very sensitive. There are many nerves that help you feel things," Castiel told him. "That also means they hurt very badly when they are injured."

They had been hunting out in the woods, and Jack had taken a dive to tackle the monster they were chasing, but instead, he had fallen into a patch of rocky soil, scraping his hands bloody, and causing pine needles to drive into his flesh like slivers. Castiel was currently trying to get them out. The warm cloth was helping draw them to the surface a little, but it was still a long and painful process.

He took the cloth away and held one of Jack's hands on his knee as he painstakingly took the tweezers and began to pull each sliver of pine needle out of his palm. Jack flinched and soon started to whimper a bit too, the sound going straight to Castiel's heart. These may not be life-threatening injuries, but they were still painful, and having to cause the boy pain even in the process of helping him hurt Castiel nearly as much as it hurt Jack.

"There we go, just one more now," he coxed as he finished getting the slivers out of one hand and reached for the other, cradling it firmly in one of his hands as he worked on the needles with the other.

Jack curled into himself, gritting his teeth, though sounds of pain still escaped. This hand thankfully didn't have as many pine needles, but Castiel still wasn't finished after he had gotten them out.

"Okay, this will hurt again, I'm afraid, but we're almost through," Castiel said kindly.

He reached for the bowl of warm water and set that on a towel in his lap before he took both of Jack's wrists and settled his hands in the water. Jack hissed at the feeling of the hot water on his wounds but Castiel had him leave them in for a few seconds before he took up the cloth again, and turned one palm over to start the painful process of scrubbing the dirt and the small pieces of gravel from the wounds.

Jack whimpered again, and Castiel could feel him instinctively jerking away, but he held firm, shushing the young nephillim as he continued. Blood tinged the water by the time Castiel had finished and Jack was sniffling, his eyes wet with tears of pain.

"Now we really are almost done," Castiel assured him as he took Jack's hands out of the water and set the bowl back on the table before he took the towel in his lap and used it to gently dab the water from Jack's palms.

He then took up some gauze and anti-biotic ointment and spread it liberally over the raw wounds before wrapping the gauze around Jack's hands until it looked like he was wearing fingerless gloves.

After he had finished and set the things aside, he gave Jack a kind smile and reached out to stroke the hair gently from his eyes. "There. They should be better within a few days."

"It still hurts a lot," Jack sniffed, cradling his hands awkwardly in his lap.

"I know," Castiel said and pulled him forward until Jack rested his head on the angel's shoulder. "But that's just part of being mortal."

"I don't like it," Jack whispered. "I wish pain wasn't part of it."

"We all do," Castiel said softly and simply held the boy with the bandaged hands, wishing that Jack didn't even have to endure the small pains that came with being human.

But as long as he was mortal, Castiel vowed he would protect him and take care of him still.

Nothing would ever change that.


	3. Day Three: Insomnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during Season 9 but Dean didn't kick Cas out of the bunker

He couldn't sleep.

Even thought the bunker was safe, and so were Sam and Dean, Castiel had been there for three days and he still couldn't sleep.

He realized this wasn't a good thing, that his newly human body needed sleep. He could feel it starting to suffer, to shut down, and yet, even though he was exhausted of both mind and body, whenever he lay down in the soft bed in the room that Sam and Dean had let him have, he could not fall asleep. Every time he closed his eyes, emotions, newly raw, would emerge, chasing slumber away. Guilt over what had happened, causing the angels to fall, ate at him. Remembering his days cold and helpless—he had hardly slept then either—and just how hard it was to be human…Castiel didn't know how he could ever be okay again. How he could ever find rest. He had destroyed Heaven, caused his brothers and sisters to fall, to lose their wings. Being human was all he deserved.

And if he didn't sleep soon, he probably wouldn't have to deal with this much longer.

He got up from his bed, sluggish, and decided to go to the kitchen to get something to drink. Perhaps something warm would aid in his sleeping ventures.

But he felt dizzy, and his body sang uncomfortably with adrenaline—the only thing keeping him going right now—and he staggered against the wall, keeping his hand on it as he padded clumsily down the hall from the dormitory wing to the kitchen.

He fumbled for the light switch and finally turned it on, flooding the kitchen with light that pierced his eyes. He winced but went over to the cupboard where Sam kept tea and grabbed a box. It seemed an unnecessary struggle to open it up and fish a small packet out and an even harder struggle to open the packet to get the teabag out, but eventually he did manage it, and went to get a mug.

He grabbed one from the table that held the coffee maker, but as he turned back around to find the kettle, a dizzy spell struck him and he gasped.

The cup slipped from his fingers and crashed to the floor.

Castiel grabbed the edge of the table and fought to keep himself from following. How could he be this weak?

"Cas?"

He looked up, nearly stumbling from dizziness again as he saw Dean standing in the doorway to the kitchen in his pajamas, a frown on his face.

"Dude, what the hell?"

"Couldn't sleep," Castiel said, sounding exhausted, even to himself. "Sorry I broke this." He swayed and before he knew it, he was stumbling again. But this time strong hands halted his descent and guided him backward toward the table and a stool.

"Whoa, you okay?" Dean crouched in front of him, one hand on his shoulder to make sure he didn't pitch off the stool.

"I'm fine," Castiel tried to protest.

"No, you're not," Dean insisted. "What's going on, man?"

Castiel sighed, propping his head up with one hand. It felt too heavy for his neck alone to hold it up. "I'm just tired. I haven't been able to sleep."

"How long?" Dean asked, frowning.

Castiel looked away from him. "I haven't slept since I got here."

Dean's eyes blew wide. "Three days? You haven't slept at all?"

"No," Castiel said in frustration. "I try, and I'm so tired, but every time I lay down everything is just too…too much. Too heavy. All I want is rest." He felt his eyes smart and blur and was surprised to find that he had tears in them. That made him even more frustrated.

Dean sighed. "Hey, I know how that is, trust me. It's hard to get those thoughts to go away, but you gotta take care of yourself, man. You're human now, and humans need sleep. Your body will quit on you."

"Then how?" Castiel demanded, feeling more desperate by the minute.

"Well, first, let me make this tea for you," Dean said, straightening up and going to put the kettle on the stove. "And we're gonna do chamomile, because it doesn't have caffeine in it." While the water was heating, he cleaned up the broken cup. Then once the water was boiled, he got a new one and poured the cup of tea for Castiel. He nodded to the angel. "Now let's get you comfortable in bed."

Dean offered a hand on Castiel's shoulder in support, carrying the cup back to the room for him as the ex-angel staggered, dragging his body back to his room.

He sank onto his bed and Dean placed the cup in his hands. Castiel took it gingerly, his hands clumsy.

"Are you comfortable here?" Dean asked, sounding somewhat worried.

Castiel nodded. "This bed is sufficient. That's not the problem."

Dean sat on the side of the mattress, clasping his hands over his knees. "Then what is, Cas? You can talk to me, you know. Sam and I are here to help. I know you're going through a lot and you probably have a lot of questions."

Castiel sighed. "I have been plagued before by my guilt, but it has never manifested so physically. Dean, what I caused…"

"It was Metatron," Dean said firmly. "You know that."

"That doesn't help me sleep," Castiel replied quietly. "And I'm afraid that if I do…all I will see is what I did. Everything horrible thing I've ever done will come back to haunt me in my nightmares."

Dean studied him for a few seconds. Castiel took a few sips of the tea and felt the warmth flow through his body. Maybe he was relaxing, or maybe his system was just finally giving out.

Dean then stood, and Castiel felt a sudden jolt go through him, a sudden fear of being left alone. But Dean only went around the bed to pull the chair from the desk over and sit in it.

"How about I stay here tonight?" he asked.

"Dean, no, you should sleep in your own room…" Castiel tried to protest, but it sounded weak, even to his own ears.

"You watched over me all these years," Dean said and it was true. Castiel had watched over Dean and Sam. Especially when their nightmares had plagued them. He had done what he could to ease them, even though he hadn't been able to stop them every time. "I think I can watch over you a couple nights. And if you have a nightmare, I'll wake you up."

Castiel was touched deeply by Dean's sentiment, and a calmness seemed to wash over his body. Relief. Something let go inside of him, a tangled knot that seemed to be unraveling.

"Thank you," he whispered, a lump in his throat.

"No problem, Cas," Dean said quietly, leaning back in the chair.

Castiel felt the pure exhaustion pull at him and he set his half drunk cup of tea aside and slumped further into the bed. He pulled the blankets up around his shoulders, feeling the warmth cover him in a comforting cocoon. He may not be able to sense Dean's soul as a human, but he could still hear his breathing and it was the only lullaby he seemed to need. He wasn't alone. Dean and Sam were there for him, and he was safe—they were all safe. And they would figure out a way to fix the angels and Heaven too.

Castiel's eyes slid shut and with a sigh of released tension, he finally slept.


	4. Day Four: "No, stop!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is variation to the scene in 11x3

All Castiel felt was rage. It boiled inside of him like a fire he wouldn't put out. Anger, fury, hate, and worst of all the pure and animalistic need to kill.

The man gave a shocked yelp as Castiel charged him and tried to run. But Castiel kept going, grabbing the man by the back of his coat and picking him off of his feet to swing him into a pile of crates nearby that toppled and half buried the man. He groaned, weakly shoving at the crates in an attempt to get away, and Castiel began to throw them off of the man, his prey. He growled as he unearthed the cowering figure.

"Cas!" the man cried before Castiel was dragging him up again and throwing him against a wall. "Cas, don't!" The man's hands tried to clutch at Castiel's arms as if to keep him away. He growled again, and punched the man in the face until he stopped talking, then shook him until he let go before throwing him back against the wall.

The man groaned and slumped to the ground where Castiel began to kick him. He caught him in the stomach and ribs, before the man curled up with pained grunts, one hand held up to fend him off. Castiel snarled and grabbed the hand by the wrist, twisting it until it snapped.

The man howled and started to drag himself away, but Castiel couldn't have that. The rage inside of him called for more blood. He didn't understand why this man was so hard to kill.

He kicked out at his prey again and the man rolled a few feet, landing sprawled on his back, groaning but motionless. Something glinted inside of his coat and caught Castiel's eye.

Castiel growled again low in his throat, stalking toward his fallen prey. He bent and retrieved a long blade from the man's coat. His fingers tried to stop Castiel from taking it, but his prey was now too weak.

"Cas…don't, please." The man's eyes were barely open, his face beat bloody. The sight of the blood made adrenaline pump through Castiel's veins and he growled again, clutching the blade in his hand and staring between it and his fallen prey. He needed more blood.

"Come on, man," his prey spoke again. "This isn't you, it's a spell! Fight it, Cas!"

The man would not shut up and Castiel didn't want to hear him talk anymore. He only wanted blood. He growled again and kicked the man fully onto his back before crouching over him, raising the blade.

"No, stop!" the man pleaded. "Please. Cas, it's me, it's Dean. We're family."

Family.

Some jarred in the very back of Castiel's mind. This man's face, and another. Dean. His mind supplied, and Sam.

His family.

The bloodlust fell away, the pounding in his ears ceased and Castiel gasped, coming fully back to himself. He threw the blade away from him as it clattered across the floor and then scrambled off of Dean.

"Dean?" he gasped, fully taking in the man, his best friend, lying on the ground. His face was covered in blood and he was cradling one arm to his chest. "Dean." Castiel breathed, reaching up to clutch a hand in his hair, horrified at the fact that he had done this.

"Cas? You there?" the hunter asked cautiously, eyes wary.

Castiel took a shuddering breath and reached out to touch Dean's shoulder. He flinched slightly at first, but relaxed as he watched Cas' eyes. "Oh good, it is you."

"Dean I am…I am so sorry," Castiel said.

Dean propped himself up into a sitting position and reached out to grip Castiel's shoulder with his good hand. "You dug yourself out of it, that's all that matters."

"But I hurt you! I did…I did all of this!" he gestured to Dean, horror fighting against the spell that still wanted to take its hold.

"It was the spell," Dean insisted. "You can't blame yourself. Now come on, we have Rowena with us, and she'll get you cured."

Castiel shook his head, feeling the spell start to encroach upon him again. He staggered to his feet. "No, Dean, just go. I can't…I can't stop it."

"Yes, you can," Dean said firmly, biting back a grunt as he also staggered to his feet and approached Castiel. The angel held up a hand to warn him back, but Dean just stepped forward and grabbed his wrist, holding onto him tightly. "We're family. Remember that."

Castiel took a shuddering breath. One side of his face was bloody and already swollen, injuries caused by Castiel's own hands, but Dean was still trying to get him to fight this. The heat surged through him and he growled, clenching his teeth, but he shook himself firmly and forced it back.

"Got it?" Dean asked.

"Yes," Castiel replied.

Running footsteps could be heard and Sam and Rowena appeared. Sam had a gun to her and looked shocked to see the state Dean was in.

Dean turned to the witch. "Fix him. Now."

She rolled her eyes but started chanting the spell. Castiel felt it take hold of him, felt the spell being ripped from him. He cried out, collapsing onto his knees as Dean called to him. He felt a hand on his arm, grounding him, and then finally it was over. He lay there panting, and now two voices spoke, worriedly, above him.

"Cas?" someone shook his shoulder; another hand slipped under his cheek and raised his head from the concrete floor.

"Come on, man."

He blinked and saw two pairs of worried eyes staring back at him, one from a bloody face and one not.

"Hey," Dean said as he and Sam helped him to sit up. It was an effort Castiel didn't think he was ready for, but their hands didn't leave him, keeping him upright.

"You okay?" Sam asked worriedly.

Castiel looked between them, memories of everything he had done since the spell had taken hold washing over him, before they culminated in the vicious beating he had given Dean, the evidence of which was still on his face.

Castiel's own face crumpled. "Dean, I'm…I'm so sorry," he whispered.

Dean suddenly drew him into a hug and Sam's large hand settled on the back of his neck. Castiel gave a huff of surprise before he let out a pent up breath and relaxed into their hold.

"It doesn't matter now," Dean said. "You're good. Now what do you say we go home?"

Castiel nodded. Yes he would like that very much.


	5. Day Five: Poisoned

"Dude, this is so gross, are we sure this is even going to work?"

Sam sighed. "No, but I did read that a basilisk's only weakness is the 'scent of weasel' so this is the best I came up with."

Dean wrinkled his nose as he carefully dabbed the weasel musk onto his blade. "I hate these friggin' mythological creatures man. There's too many variables as to what you can do to kill them."

"That's why I'm bringing a mirror too, just in case," Sam said.

"Are we ready?" Cas asked.

Dean nodded and they headed out.

The ground around the basilisk's den was devoid of all vegetation. The thing was apparently so poisonous that it killed everything around it. Even the rocks looked somewhat corroded.

"Okay, so remember, don't look it directly in the eyes," Sam said. "We'll try to use the mirror to stun in."

Dean grumbled and wrinkled his nose as he took out his knife. "Let's get this over with. I'm going to smell like weasel musk for days now."

"I'll try to draw it out," Cas said and picked up some rocks and threw them into the entrance of the thing's den.

Nothing happened. They looked at each other, and then Sam heard a rustling in the leaves behind them.

"Guys!" he shouted and they all spun around. Dean and Cas had their blades at the ready and Sam held the mirror up toward the movement that they saw.

The basilisk didn't look like much, pretty much just a normal snake, but its eyes…oh crap.

"Sammy!" Sam heard Dean shout as if from far away, but he couldn't look. He was frozen, looking into those eyes. The mirror slipped from his hands as the basilisk reared, mouth open…

The next thing he knew someone was blocking his line of sight. He snapped out of it and saw Dean stabbing downwards with his knife while Cas held the mirror right in front of the basilisk, keeping it still.

"Gotcha, you bastard!" Dean said, pinning it to the ground. It thrashed once and then collapsed, eyes dull and finally safe to look at.

Sam let out a breath, shaking himself.

Dean looked up at him. "Sam, you good?"

Sam nodded, still in shock, but he snapped out of it soon as Dean suddenly cried out, dropping his blade like it was hot.

"Dean, what's wrong?" Cas asked, eyes wide.

"I…I don't know," Dean said, clutching his hand and looking at the palm. It was bright red like from an acid burn.

"No," Sam said suddenly, rushing to his brother. "There was this thing I read…that the poison could travel from a blade into the bearer, but…"

"Holy crap," Dean gasped, and swayed. Sam and Cas caught him, dragging him back toward the car.

"Cas, can you heal him?" Sam asked frantically.

The angel looked like he was trying to concentrate, then shook his head with a pained expression. "No. For some reason it's not working."

"Let's get him back to the motel then, we'll find something that will work."

Sam took the wheel while Cas sat in back with Dean to see is there was anything he could do. Sam clenched the wheel until his knuckles whitened. He couldn't lose his brother because he had failed. He just couldn't.

XXX

Sam sat by the bed, mopping Dean's brow. He glanced down at Dean's arm again, and felt sick as he saw even more red lines running up it. His hand that rested on the sheets was dark red now but his fingers were starting to look blackened like the flesh was dying. He glanced around the room, hoping that Cas would return quickly. He hoped the angel could find what they needed to cure Dean, because otherwise…well, there was more than one way to cure this kind of injury, but Sam didn't want Dean to lose his arm. He couldn't stand that.

He couldn't believe he had frozen. He couldn't believe he had ignored that part of the lore because there was nothing to back it up. They should have used bullets instead. If Sam lost his brother because of this, or if Dean lost his arm—or even the use of it…Sam would never forgive himself.

There was the sound of flapping and Sam looked up with relief as Castiel appeared, a bowl in his arms full of things.

"I believe I got everything we need," he said, striding over to the bed and setting the bowl on the side table. "How is he?"

Sam swallowed hard. "It's worse. And he's completely unconscious now."

"That's probably for the best, this won't be pleasant," Castiel said as he started to mix the ingredients. "We have to cut his palm and place it in this mixture. It's supposed to draw the poison out."

Sam nodded and took Dean's hand from where it rested across his chest. Cas put the bowl on the side of the bed and took up a knife. He gripped Dean's wrist and made a cut across the infected palm. Dean flinched slightly and Cas looked over to meet Sam's eyes.

"You'll probably want to hold him down," he said grimly.

Sam swallowed hard, but leaned over to press down on Dean's shoulders as Cas placed his hand into the bowl.

For a moment, it didn't look like anything was happening, and Sam was worried the ingredients were wrong or the potion didn't work, but then Dean tensed, and let out a guttural cry. He tried to jerk away but Cas held his hand in the bowl firmly as Sam did his best to try and keep Dean from thrashing, worried he would spill the potion.

"Cas, is it working?" Sam asked.

Cas glanced down into the bowl and nodded. "Yes," he said with relief.

Sam glanced over and saw the darkened veins that had been slowly traveling up Dean's arm dissipating. It was a long process, and obviously agony, but eventually all the poison was drained from Dean and his hand looked normal and healthy again aside from the cut across his palm. Sam breathed a sigh of relief, and carefully cleaned and wrapped the cut.

"Now what?" he asked.

"Let him rest," Cas said. "He'll likely sleep off whatever other effects there were from the poison."

They waited tensely through the night, Sam unable to sleep, and constantly checking Dean's hand to make sure the poison wasn't coming back, but eventually he began to stir and groan, eyes fluttering.

"Dean?" Sam asked, leaning forward in the chair he was sitting in. Cas, who had been standing by the window came over hurriedly.

"S'm? Wha' happened?" Dean slurred.

"The basilisk poisoned you," Sam told him. "But we were able to cure you."

"Feel like crap," Dean grunted. "Thirsty."

"It may take you a couple days to recover fully," Cas said as he hurried over with a glass of water. "But you should be fine."

"Thanks guys," Dean said after Sam had slipped a hand behind his head to help him drink.

"We're just glad you're okay, Dean," Sam said softly.

Dean, obviously seeing his worry, forced a smile. "Dude, I'm not gonna let some half-assed snake monster kill me."

Sam snorted, and squeezed Dean's arm. "Just rest, okay?"

"Not gonna argue with that," Dean said and his eyes slid shut.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. Dean was going to be okay.

Cas' hand was on his shoulder now. "You should get some rest too, Sam. I'll keep an eye on Dean."

Sam nodded. "Not gonna argue," he repeated, and went to do just that.


	6. Day Six: Betrayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is set late Season 5

The meeting place was an abandoned warehouse. Castiel had come to realize these were common places for these sorts of meetings. Though he was a little suspicious about the insistence of a non-public place. Especially if this was indeed supposed to be a peaceful meeting.

Castiel had contacted Daniel for information about the Horsemen. He'd served with the other angel many millennia and trusted him. He had been taking a chance when he had contacted him, but he was glad that Daniel had offered to meet instead of just dismissing him like he had feared would be the case.

Still, the Winchesters had cautioned Castiel against going, and while he could understand their concerns, they didn't know Daniel.

It turned out, Castiel apparently didn't know Daniel either because only a couple minutes into their meeting, the angel gave him a regretful look, and two more angels appeared out of the shadows, angel blades held at the ready.

Castiel felt his heart sink. "Why brother?"

"You are not my brother," Daniel said firmly. "Not anymore. You choose your side with the humans and now you can die like they will."

The angels surged toward him and Castiel defended several blows before one of the blades got through and slashed him across the chest. He staggered back, the wound deep, and glowing from his grace, but he grit his teeth and went back into the fight. He was able to take down one of the angels, his heart aching with the burst of grace, but the other got under his guard and drove the blade through his side.

Castiel cried out in pain and staggered away. He couldn't win this fight, and he didn't want to kill any more of his brothers or sisters, so when he got an opening, he spread his wings and took flight.

XXX

Dean paced around the motel room while Sam looked at stuff on his laptop.

"Isn't it taking him a while?" he asked, looking at his watch.

Sam sighed, but there was a worried furrow between his brows too. "You know Cas can take care of himself."

"He could, when he wasn't cut off from Heaven or whatever," Dean said. "And this whole thing seemed off. We don't know this angel isn't working for Zachariah."

"No, but give him a few more minutes at least," Sam said. "There's no point in worrying over nothi—"

He was cut off by a whump of wind and Cas suddenly appeared in the room, sprawled on the filthy motel carpet.

"Cas!" Dean and Sam both cried at once. Sam slammed his laptop shut and hurried around the table just as Dean reached the angel, crouching down beside him.

"Dude, what the hell?" he demanded.

"I-I was betrayed," Cas grunted as he forced himself up onto his hands and knees. "We need sigils of protection, they may be on their way—agh!" he tried to get to his feet, but gasped. Dean grabbed his shoulder and then saw the blood that stained his shirt and trench coat.

"Cas, you're hurt," he stuttered.

The angel gave him a baleful look. "I am aware. But I will be fine." He finally got to his feet with Dean's help and promptly started to pitch forward again. Luckily Sam was there too, helping Dean catch him.

"Let's get you to a bed," Sam told him and they helped Cas to the closest bed and he collapsed heavily on it.

The instant Cas was lying down he reached for the side table, taking up the pen and a pad of paper there, and scribbling several sigils on it. "Put these up now!" He commanded.

Sam grabbed them and did as he was told. Dean leaned over the angel, trying to see how bad the wounds were.

"What happened, Cas?" he asked as he finally loosened the angel's tie and began to unbutton his shirt.

Cas let out a long sigh, looking away from him. "Daniel must have been working for Zachariah. He brought other angels and they tried to kill me."

Dean shook his head. "I told you you shouldn't trust that feathered dick, Cas."

"Dean," Sam said with a frown. "Take it easy."

Dean looked down at Cas who had a haunted look on his face and his gut twisted. Duh, the guy had every reason to be upset. That angel had probably been his friend and he had betrayed him, tried to kill him. Dean sighed.

"Look, Cas, I'm sorry this happened. But we'll get you patched up."

The angel shook his head. "I'll heal, that's not necessary."

"Yeah, it is," Dean insisted and went to get the first aid kit out of his bag.

The angel didn't bother trying to protest again and Dean realized he must really be hurting. Though whether it was the physical wounds or the emotional ones that hurt worse, he couldn't tell.

"I just hoped there was one angel left that might offer me help," Cas said almost to himself. "Who wanted to fight for humanity too."

Sam had finished the sigils and came over to stand on the other side of the bed. "Cas, I'm so sorry this happened. I was really hoping this would all go smoothly."

"But," Dean added, seeing that Cas didn't seem to be feeling any better after this. "You still have us, man. Team Free Will, remember? And we're not going to stab you or sell you out to some douchebag."

Cas let out a pent up breath and finally looked up to meet Dean's eyes again. "You're right. I know I can always count on you."

Dean swallowed hard, that sick feeling in his stomach coming back like it always did when he thought of the enormity of stopping the apocalypse. But right now, in that room, with his brother, and this fallen angel who had somehow become his best friend, he realized that they could do this together.

"Of course you can, Cas," he said sincerely.

At that the angel seemed to relax and finally allowed Dean and Sam to tend his wounds.


	7. Day Seven: Kidnapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a variation on the scene in 12x2

Sam shivered uncontrollably even though he tried to hide it. Even though he was no longer tied to the chair, it wasn't like he could move. Not with a bullet hole in his leg and his other foot burned to a crisp. Not to mention the rest of his body, covered in cuts and burns and contusions. He didn't want Toni Bevel to come back. He didn't want her messing with his head again, but he was afraid that he wouldn't be able to take much more of the physical torture either. His body was already going into shock and he was sure that too much more of the same treatment would probably kill him.

Not that he cared.

Dean was dead. He hadn't been able to save his brother. After everything he had gone through to save him from the Mark, Dean had still had to sacrifice himself to stop the Darkness. And Cas…Cas would try to come for him, Sam was sure of it. But this place had to be warded against everything. And Sam was afraid that if Cas did get in they would only kill him, or, worse, use him to get Sam to talk, and he would rather die than see his friend tortured. It would be easier this way. Just dying. He didn't want to see anyone else die in front of him.

Dean.

One tear slid from Sam's eye and ran down his blood encrusted cheek. He couldn't believe he had lost him again. But maybe now it wouldn't be too long before he saw him.

That at least was a comfort to Sam.

XXX

Dean drove the Impala possibly faster than he ever had. Mom was in the passenger seat, and Cas was waiting at the property. They would get Sam back. There was no other option. No one kidnapped his little brother and lived to tell about it.

He pulled up behind Cas' truck as they stopped on the side of the road, the angel watching him with relief in his eyes.

Dean got out of the car, and went to the trunk to pull out his weapons.

"You figure out where the warding is?" Dean asked Cas.

The angel nodded.

"Good." Dean closed the trunk and handed his mom some weapons. "I'll break it. We're all going in. No prisoners."

"I wasn't planning on it," Cas said darkly as he and Mom followed Dean toward the house.

Dean's little brother was in there, and there would be hell to pay if they hurt him.

XXX

Sam heard the footsteps above and cringed, curling himself tighter into a ball in the corner he had inserted himself in. He just wanted this to be over. He squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for the inevitable.

He thought he heard gun-shots above, but maybe he was still hallucinating. He just really hoped it wasn't a rescue attempt gone wrong.

The door to the basement opened and footsteps, several pairs, cautiously made their way down. He didn't say anything, didn't even look, because he couldn't stand the thought of who might be there and whether they had another blowtorch.

"Sammy?"

Sam's breath caught in his throat. Dean? No, it was impossible, unless…

He was already dead.

But he still hurt. A lot. He'd died a lot of times and he never remembered it hurting after the fact, not like this.

"Dean, here." That sounded like Cas. Footsteps hurried in his direction and he instinctively shrank back, a whimper escaping his throat.

"Son of a bitch," Dean growled. "Sammy!"

Hands were on him then and he flinched, until he felt the familiar worry as the palms searched him, fingers gently probing and slipping under the tears in his clothes to check his wounds. This was all so familiar, Sam allowed himself to relax for a long second. If he was dead, this was okay.

"Sammy, come on, open your eyes," Dean coaxed and hands sandwiched Sam's face between them, lifting his head off the floor. Sam still didn't open his eyes. He didn't want this dream to go away.

"Sammy, it's me. It's really me," Dean pleaded. "Look at me, man."

Sam finally peeled his eyes open, and blinked. Dean was hovering over him, a worried expression on his face. Cas was right behind him, leaning in. Both of them had bruises and blood on their faces, and they were solid and real and Sam couldn't believe it.

"Dean?" he whispered.

Dean smiled. "Yeah, little brother. It's me."

"You're dead," Sam said, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

Dean shook his head. "No. I'm not. I'll tell you what happened later but we need to get you out of here."

Sam still couldn't believe it, though. He reached out and grabbed at Dean's shirt, pressing his fingers against his brother's chest. There was a heartbeat there, strong and thrumming. He gripped the collar of his brother's shirt and pulled it down to check his anti-possession tattoo, but it was still there, unscathed. Dean huffed but smiled, grabbing Sam's searching hand and holding it firmly in his. "This is real, Sam. I'm alive."

"Dean," was all Sam could say and his brother was suddenly pulling him into a sitting position. Sam collapsed against his chest as Dean held him tightly. Sam pressed his face against Dean's neck, breathing in his familiar scent. Alive. He was shuddering, and soundless sobs were escaping. Dean held him through it and made no move to let go any time soon.

"It's okay, Sammy. Everything's gonna be okay now," he said.

And Sam knew it was, because no matter what happened now, Dean was alive, and that was all that mattered to him.

 


	8. Day Eight: Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is set late Season 4

It was dark and he was so hot. He felt like he was burning. And that only meant one thing.

He was in Hell again.

Dean took several shuddering breaths as he fought to look around, but he didn't seem to be able to open his eyes. They felt too heavy, like it was too much of a chore to open them, but he didn't need to. He remembered what had happened. He remembered going on a hunt, getting injured—he must have died, and ended up back in Hell again. Just like Alastair had threatened.

"Please," he tried to whisper. But no one heard him. He couldn't stop the apocalypse. He wasn't strong enough to do it and so the angels had obviously given up on him. They weren't going to come for him this time. He was on his own. There was no getting out of Hell now.

A tall figure loomed over him as he tried to pry his eyes back open. "No," he whispered, pleading. "You're dead."

"That's what you'd like to think," Alastair hissed sibilantly. "But you know I can't really be dead. Not as long as you fear me, Dean. Now…what do you say we have some fun?"

"No!" Dean groaned, and fell through the blackness as Alastair's cruel chuckle followed him in his descent, the flames licking at his skin.

XXX

Sam wiped Dean's brow constantly, but it did little good. His fever had spiked again and there was nothing he seemed to be able to do about it. Had he missed something? Was Dean's wound septic?

He turned down the thin sheet he had been covering Dean with and peeled back the bandages that covered most of his left side. The wound gaped red and angry in Dean's flesh and Sam swallowed back the bile that threatened to rise in his throat. Dean flinched as his wound was exposed to the air and he began to shiver again. Sam shifted closer, frowning as he saw some heavy bruising and discoloration of the wound. What if there was still something stuck in it? Maybe he had missed something. Because he had cleaned the wound, and there should be no reason for Dean to be suffering from a fever right now.

He cast his glance to the first aid kit still resting on the table from earlier and steeled himself. He didn't want to do this himself, but Dean was in no condition to be moved now and it looked like Sam didn't have much of a choice.

He took a deep breath and reached for the scalpel and a pair of forceps, hoping he was right and he wasn't just going to be torturing his brother for no reason.

XXX

Alastair's razor cut into him. Dean bit back a scream at first, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but the pain continued, and he couldn't help it. He jerked in his chains and let out a guttural scream.

"That's it, Dean, scream for me," Alastair said, pleased, as he dug deeper with the blade.

"Please stop," Dean whimpered.

"I'm sorry, Dean, I can't."

Dean's eyes flew open and there was another face hovering over him. Pained hazel eyes and shaggy hair.

Sammy.

"Sammy, no," he groaned.

"I have to do this, Dean," Sam told him, his voice flat. Dean glanced over his shoulder and saw Alastair hovering there, grinning. The demon reached out to put a hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed in a gesture Dean remembered well; halfway between a 'job well done' and a 'stay, boy'.

"How do you like my new apprentice, Deano? He's quite the fast learner."

"No," Dean groaned. Sam's eyes turned black and Dean's world suddenly burst into agony once again.

XXX

Sam wiped shaking hands on a towel as he watched Dean. His brother had woken slightly when he'd started cutting into the wound, but he hadn't seemed lucid. And now he was bleeding even more. Sam had dislodged a claw from the rugaru that had attacked Dean, but it seemed to have only caused more damage. Maybe it had been too close to Dean's spleen. Sam frantically pressed a towel over Dean's wound, but he knew he was bleeding internally anyway.

Sam glanced at his phone on the side table. He could call an ambulance, but would it be able to get Dean to the hospital in time?

That left him with only one other option.

XXX

Dean could feel the strength leaving him as Alastair continued his torment, scrambling his guts with a gleeful expression on his face. Thankfully Sam seemed to be gone.

"You're dying, Dean," Alastair said. "Then you really will be mine. And there will be no angels coming to rescue you this time. I'll make sure of that."

Dean closed his eyes and felt himself slipping away, when a hand, firm and warm touched his forehead, and he gasped, feeling warmth and energy flow through him.

"Don't be so sure of that," a powerful voice rumbled.

"No," Alastair growled.

"You will not have him," the same voice said firmly. "Not again."

Then the area blew up with a light so bright Dean had to shut his eyes. All he heard was Alastair screaming…

Then he was gasping awake, eyes flying open. He surged into a sitting position, clutching at his stomach.

"Dean!"

Sam was there instantly; grasping his shoulder and leaning over him, worry on his face. "Dean, are you okay?"

Dean's fingers brushed over his skin. There was blood smeared everywhere and there was a blood-soaked towel in his lap, but he didn't have any wounds and there was only the phantom of pain echoing with the nightmare.

"What the hell?" he gasped.

"You got hurt really bad on a hunt, and you got a fever—but you're okay now," Sam said, his brow pinching with residual concern. Fever—that would explain the weird hallucinations. "I had to call in Castiel to heal you."

For the first time, Dean realized the angel was standing a little behind Sam, completely silent. "Cas?" he asked, somewhat baffled. "You…you came for me again?"

The angel looked slightly confused, and Dean remembered suddenly that he hadn't actually been in Hell again. That had just been a nightmare. But before he could bluster out an explanation, Cas came over and carefully touched his shoulder like Sam had been a moment ago. "Of course I did, Dean. I am your guardian. I will always come when I can."

"Well, thanks," Dean said sincerely and Sam nodded in agreement.

Dean took a deep breath. It was going to take him a little bit to get over that, but at least he had people looking out for him. Maybe… maybe he was stronger than he thought he was.


	9. Day Nine: Stranded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is set late Season 5 as kind of an alternate version of when Cas woke up in the hospital

Castiel drifted somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness. This was a strange feeling for him, something he was not used to. He could hear vague sounds of conversation going on around him as well as an incessant beeping that was starting to annoy him.

He attempted to open his eyes, but they felt so heavy. Memory started to flood back then, though, and he remembered the pocket room in Van Nuys, Sam and Dean's attempt to rescue their brother Adam. His daring, and stupid, attempt to draw the angel guards off.

Castiel's eyes flew open then and he jolted upright. Someone let out a cry of surprise, and he whipped his head around frantically, trying to figure out where he was.

"Sir, stay still!" someone said. Hands were suddenly on him and he was still too out of it to realize where he was. What if he had been captured, taken back to Heaven? He struggled to break their hold but he seemed so weak…

"Sir, please, calm down, just lay down," someone was telling him, the hands pressing him back.

"I have—I have to…" he tried, but finally looked at his surroundings. It looked like a human hospital. And the people surrounding him were not angels, just humans in doctor's garb. He was lying in a bed, currently tangled in the blankets and wires that seemed to be attached to him. He felt dizzy too, and suddenly decided he didn't want to be on his feet after all. He allowed the doctors to maneuver him back onto the bed.

Castiel answered their questions as best he could, but he truly didn't remember what had happened. The doctors said that he had appeared on a fishing boat unconscious, and nearly scared the sailors there to death. That must have been where he landed after banishing himself and the other angels.

The doctors made him comfortable and asked him if he needed anything.

"No," he insisted, though at the same time wondered why his mouth was so dry. Why he wanted a glass of water so badly.

"Just rest then, we'll be back to check on you soon," the nurse said kindly as she checked the IV resting next to his bed and then left the small room.

Castiel lay back, exhausted, aching. He reached up to his chest and found it was bandaged under the flimsy hospital gown he was wearing. He shoved the shirt off one shoulder and peeled back one corner of the gauze, seeing the stark wounds that he had cut into himself with the box cutter. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach when he realized they hadn't healed at all. He searched inward, feeling for his grace and only felt the tiniest spark. No wonder he felt so tired, he was little better than human. Whatever grace he'd had left before had been completely knocked out with that stunt he'd pulled.

Which meant that he was completely stranded. He couldn't heal himself, he had no wings to fly, and he would probably need food and water too. All of this would require money, which he also didn't have, though he may have Jimmy Novak's wallet in his clothes if the doctors hadn't thrown them away.

For the first time in as long as he could remember. Castiel truly didn't know what to do.

He looked around the room helplessly, and spotted a phone on the side table. He could call Sam and Dean. If they were alive, if they had survived, and Dean had not said yes to Michael…then maybe there was a chance that they would come for Castiel. They were the only ones he could trust, and he hoped his friends were okay.

So he made the call.

XXX

Castiel had never been so relieved as when Dean and Sam walked through the door of his hospital room. He already felt like he'd gotten some of his strength back, and seeing his friends come for him made him feel even better.

"Hey, Cas," Dean said, worry on his face as he looked the angel over. Castiel had explained his situation fully on the phone, but it seemed he must look worse than he thought. He was just grateful to see his friends, especially still alive and not possessed by Michael and Lucifer.

"Hey," he said back, swinging his legs off the side of the bed.

"How are you feeling?" Sam asked him.

"As well as can be expected," Castiel said, glancing between the two of them. "Better now that you're here. Thank you for coming. I didn't know what to do."

"No worries, Cas," Dean assured him, and reached under his bed for the bag that had his clothes in it. "Why don't you get dressed while Sam and I sign you out? We got a lead on Pestilence—honestly I don't think it's a great idea to be hanging around a hospital right now."

Castiel nodded and took his clothes, and was about to head toward the bathroom to change when Dean added, "Glad you're okay, man. We were…we were really worried."

Castiel turned and saw their concerned expressions and he nodded slowly. "So was I. But I'm glad to see that you didn't say yes after all, Dean."

Dean shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Well, what can I say? I'm just naturally a rebel."

"Still," Castiel said. "I'm glad to see that my faith was not misplaced after all."

Dean didn't speak, but his eyes said it all. Sam met Castiel's eyes and nodded. Castiel felt stronger now that he had his friends with him. What was it Dean had called them? Team Free Will.

"Now, let's go get Pestilence's ring," Castiel said.


	10. Day Ten: Bruises

Dean grunted as he was thrown into the wall by the werewolf, his head cracking against it painfully. He tried to reorient himself, but the wolf was throwing another punch at him, catching him in the jaw. Dean dropped to the floor, and the werewolf kicked him in the side of the face, blacking out his vision for a couple seconds before it directed its assault to his ribs, driving the wind from him.

Dean growled, scrambling for his gun on the floor. He almost got it, but the wolf dragged him backwards and kicked him hard in the small of his back. Dean yelped. Damn, he hoped his kidneys hadn't taken too much damage from that.

He finally raised a leg and kicked out at the were himself, catching it in the knee and as the beast yelped in pain, Dean flung himself across the floor, snatched up his pistol and rolled onto his back, leveling the sights on the wolf and sending three silver bullets right to the heart.

The werewolf staggered, gasping as it bled out and then slumped, dead, to the floor.

Dean rolled onto his side, groaning as his bruised ribs and back protested.

The door to the cabin slammed open and there was Sam, rushing in with his own gun raised.

"Dean?" he cried.

"What took you so long?" Dean grunted, prodding the inside of his mouth with his tongue and spitting out a gob of blood. Sam was instantly at his side, reaching down to help him to his feet. Dean groaned again in protest.

"Are you hurt?" Sam asked worriedly, looking him over.

Dean reached up to touch a split lip. His face already felt like it was stiffening from swelling. "Just some bruises." He said.

"Let's get you back to the motel," Sam told him and kept a hand on his elbow as he steered Dean out to the Impala.

Dean grumbled about Sam driving, but his eye was already swelling shut, and he didn't know if he had a concussion or not, so it was better for Sam to drive.

Once they got back to the motel, Sam sat Dean down at the table and went to grab ice. He pulled one of the towels out of the bathroom and wrapped the ice in it, making an impromptu ice pack that he put into Dean's hand before helping him guide it to the side of his face. Dean groaned as the cold touched the sore area, but soon it began to numb it.

"Keep that on there for a while. It will help the swelling go down," Sam said gently before he reached for the hem of Dean's shirt.

"Get off me," Dean grunted, slapping his hand away. "I'm fine."

Sam gave him a determined look. "I just want to see how bad it is," he said firmly.

Dean growled, but tolerated Sam's poking and prodding as his fingers touched every freaking one of Dean's ribs, but he seemed satisfied because he eventually pulled away.

"Nothing broken. But it will be sore for a few days," Sam told him sympathetically. "It's definitely black and blue."

"Nothing new," Dean muttered, wincing as he took the ice pack off for a second since it was getting really cold.

"Sorry I didn't get there earlier," Sam said softly, sitting down across from him.

Dean shot him a look then shrugged. "No harm done, it's just a few bruises, Sammy."

"Could have been worse," Sam murmured.

"But it wasn't," Dean said firmly, and raised a foot to nudge Sam's knee. "Now get me a beer, would you?"

Sam gave him a longsuffering look, but there was relief in his eyes too as he shook his head and stood to pull two beers from the mini-bar. Then they sat and drank them together, celebrating a job well done—thankfully without too many injuries.


	11. Day Eleven: Hypothermia

There were a lot of things that were difficult about being human but Castiel thought that one of the things he would never get used to was the feeling of being cold. As an angel, he'd felt pain and discomfort more than he would like, but he had never been cold, his grace had always kept him warm in whatever vessel he had been occupying at the time.

Now though, he stood out in the snowy woods, hunting a wendigo with the Winchesters and he was freezing.

Maybe he should have worn more layers, but he had on a long-sleeved shirt and a coat and he'd thought it had been enough—Sam and Dean hadn't really been wearing anything more. But now he wished he had maybe put on some gloves and a hat, and while he was at it, a few more layers. Also, pants that were less likely to get wet from the snow like his jeans were currently, sticking damply to his calves and making him even colder. He could barely feel his feet. Dean had promised him—probably jokingly—that they would get hot chocolate when they were done, and he found himself wanting nothing more than a hot drink to hold between his hands and warm his core.

He brought his hands to his mouth and tried to blow on them. They were so cold he didn't think he could even fight if a monster came his way. The cold, in fact, seemed to be distracting him because he didn't even realize there was something coming before it was almost too late.

A flash of movement blurred between two trees, and Castiel hurriedly reached for his flare gun, trying to get his freezing hands to grip it. The flash of movement came again and this time the wendigo flew toward him.

Castiel aimed with the gun and pulled the trigger, but it missed, the flare shooting off into a snow bank and exploding.

The wendigo didn't like that at all and screamed, making a beeline for Castiel.

The ex-angel ducked under a blow from its sharp claws, but it still caught him enough to throw him backwards. Castiel skidded down an incline, and when he realized what was happening, he dug his heels in, but it was too late.

At the bottom of the incline there was a river, partially covered in ice, but not thick enough to stop him from falling through.

The ice washed over him, taking his breath away, and Castiel got to his feet and scrambled as quickly as he could out of the water.

It didn't do much good though because his clothes were already soaked. The wind bit through Castiel, straight to his bones, and as cold as he had been before, he was now so much colder. How could anyone be this cold?

He tried to climb back up the slope, but tripped and fell into the snow halfway there, his body too cold to move. He let out a whimper, but could do nothing more. He was too cold to think.

Maybe if he just rested his eyes for a few seconds…

XXX

"Cas!" Dean shouted as he and Sam raced toward the spot the angel had been stationed. It was getting colder and now that they had killed the wendigo, he was ready to get out of here.

"Where is he?" Sam demanded as he glanced around, but there was no sign of the ex-angel. Dean began to get worried.

They looked around a little more before he heard Sam gasp. "Dean! Over here."

Dean watched his brother slip cautiously over an incline that led toward a river, and he frowned as he followed him. As he looked over the edge, he was shocked to see a body lying in the snow halfway up.

It was Cas.

"Son of a bitch!" he cried as he hurried down after his brother who was carefully turning Cas onto his back.

"He's soaked," Sam breathed.

Dean reached out and pressed his fingers to Cas' throat. His fingers were so cold it took a while, but he finally felt a slow pulse. Cas looked like death and his skin was cold to the touch, tinged blue.

"We have to get him warm now," Sam said.

They didn't waste any time, they simply slung Cas' arms over their shoulders and dragged him back up the incline and through the woods to where they left the Impala. Once they got there, they laid Cas in the backseat. Dean turned the car on to get the heater going while Sam hurriedly stripped the wet clothes from Cas' body while Dean snatched all the blankets they had from the back, as well as some disposable hand heaters.

He threw all the stuff in the back and helped Sam bundle Cas up.

"He's not shivering," Sam said, a worried line between his brows.

Dean clenched his jaw and simply got into the driver's seat, tearing back to town and their motel room as fast as he could. Sam had Cas' upper body propped against him to share warmth while he brisked his hands over his arms and chest in an attempt to get the blood flowing.

Thankfully, it wasn't too far to the motel, and Cas hadn't even regained responsiveness through the whole car ride. When they got to their room, Dean helped Sam carry Cas inside, blankets and all and deposited him onto one of the beds.

Sam cranked up the heater in the room as far as it would go and it protested, but thankfully started warming the room up.

Dean grabbed all the blankets from the other bed as well and piled all of them onto Cas. He reached out and pressed a hand to the ex-angel's pale cheek.

"He's still freezing," Dean said. "Dammit."

"Let's give him a few more minutes," Sam said softly. "We're out of heat packs, but I'll make a couple hot water bottles."

Dean nodded and sat on the side of the bed, reaching under a couple layers of blankets to continue rubbing Cas' limbs.

"Come on, man," he murmured, wincing as he touched one of Cas' ice-cold hands. "You are not gonna die on me. Not like this."

Sam came back with several makeshift hot water bottles and tucked them around Cas' body before he started helping Dean to restore his blood circulation.

Finally, finally, Cas started to shiver, first small tremors and then full-bodied shudders that had his teeth chattering.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief as he sat back and tucked the blankets more firmly around Cas, right up to his chin. "There you go," he encouraged.

Sam looked relieved as well and they sat there, watching Cas like a hawk, until his eyes finally fluttered open.

"Cas?" Dean asked as he and Sam both leaned forward.

Cas groaned, and blinked, looking around. "What…happened?" he asked through his still chattering teeth.

"You fell in the river, you nearly froze to death," Dean said.

"You scared the crap out of us," Sam added, but more gently as he reached out and squeezed Cas' blanket swaddled shoulder.

"I'm so cold," Cas whimpered, burrowing further into his blankets. "It hurts."

"I know," Dean said, reaching out to rub his chest through the blankets. "But you'll warm up soon enough."

Cas' teeth chattered as he looked up at Dean. "I th-think I'd like that h-hot cocoa now."

Dean grinned and squeezed his arm through the blankets. "As soon as you stop shivering so much, I will go get you hot cocoa. You deserve it."

Cas gave a small smile and burrowed deeper into the blankets as the Winchesters watched over him.


	12. Day Twelve: Electrocution

"It's in Sam."

Dean shot a look at Cas, horrified at what the angel was suggesting. "No, we've had our eye on him this whole time, you can't think…"

Cas looked regretful but resigned too. "We weren't with him when he stepped out of the room earlier, before we knew what we were dealing with, and look at him now, he's not himself."

They had been on a case with weird murders, only to find out they were dealing with Khan worms again. Dean freaking hated those little bastards. And now he knew Cas was right. Sam had been oddly silent since they had briefly split up, and now all he was doing was staring out the window of the old house they were in, watching nothing.

"What do we do?" Dean hissed.

Cas gave him a look. "You know what we need to do."

Dean didn't want to think of it. The last time they'd dealt with these, they'd almost killed Bobby getting one out of him, the last thing Dean wanted to have to do was torture his little brother. But if it would save him—and the rest of them—then it needed to be done.

"Okay. We need to…we need to get him restrained."

Cas nodded and reached into Dean's bag sitting on the table to grab some rope. Dean cautiously went over to Sam.

"Hey, Sammy, come here for a minute," he said.

Sam turned slowly from the window, his eyes narrowing. And then he suddenly charged Dean with a growl. Dean was so surprised, he was bowled over, and Sam made a beeline for the door.

"Cas!" Dean cried.

Sam didn't get past the angel. Cas grabbed the wrist he held a knife in and swiftly disarmed him before punching him in the jaw. Sam dropped and Dean scrambled to his feet, joining Cas again.

"It still in him?" Dean demanded.

Cas checked both Sam's ears but there was no goo. "Yes."

Dean cursed and they both maneuvered Sam into a chair and tied him firmly. Dean left Cas to watch him while he went to get what they would need.

In the garage of the house, he found an old car battery and some jumper cables. This was a freaking bad idea but it was all they had.

Sam was awake by the time Dean got back, and giving Cas an eerie smile.

"The angel thinks he's so strong," the voice was Sam's but the tone was all wrong. "Just wait until I get out of these ropes."

"You're not getting out of those ropes, but you are getting out of my brother one way or another," Dean said firmly as he came in and planted the battery on the table. The thing watched him through Sam's eyes, the smirk still in place.

"You really think that's going to do anything to me?" it asked.

"I know it will," Dean said. "See, I've seen your kind before. You don't scare me. I'm gonna fry you, you son of a bitch."

"But you'll fry your brother right along with me," the thing said with a gleeful hiss that made Dean's skin crawl. "I'm not letting go until he's dead too."

"We'll see about that," Dean said and set up, attaching one end of the cables to the proper places. He touched the jumper cables together and they sparked.

"Last chance," Dean said.

The thing smirked with Sam's lips and Dean took a deep breath before he stepped forward and shoved the jumper cables against Sam's arms.

Sam's body went rigid, his head thrown back as he let out a scream. Dean left them for a couple long seconds before pulling back. He watched Sam's ears and nose for goo, but there was none. Sam's eyes opened, but the smirk came back.

"That tickled," the thing said.

Dean glanced at Cas who gave him a pained look, then went in for round two.

This time he left them longer, Sam's screams piercing him to his core. Black good started to drip from Sam's nose, but he eventually stopped screaming and Dean pulled back, afraid he would kill his brother. Sam fell limp, the goo dripping down his lip, but still no sign of the Khan worm.

Cas was at his side in an instant, reaching out to feel for a pulse in Sam's throat.

"He's still alive," he said.

Dean swallowed hard. "He wont be if I keep doing this."

"Dean, you can't leave him like this either," Cas told him softly.

Dean gritted his teeth and braced himself as he put the jumper cables against Sam's skin one more time. His body jerked, eyes rolling up in his head, and as hard as it was for Dean to watch, he pushed through, until more goo started leaking from Sam's nose, and then his ears and then finally the worm eked its way out of Sam's ear and dropped onto the floor.

"Cas!' Dean yelled as he yanked the cables away from Sam.

The angel ground the thing under the heel of his shoe and it was extremely dead after that.

"Sammy." Dean crouched in front of his brother, cradling his head in his hands as he felt for a pulse. Nothing.

"No, no, no," Dean muttered as he drew a knife and slashed the ropes free. Sam slumped forward and Dean caught him, lowering him to the floor as he shoved a hand against Sam's chest, wondering if he had been wrong. "Sammy! Sammy, come on, don't do this!"

Cas crouched on the other side of him and reached out, placing a hand on Sam's chest. He closed his eyes and a small spark snapped from his palm into Sam's chest.

A second later, Sam's eyes flew open and he gasped, surging upright.

"Sammy!" Dean cried in relief, simply grabbing his brother in an embrace.

"D-Dean," Sam stuttered, hands shaky as they clutched at Dean's coat. "W-what ha-happened?"

"You got Khan wormed," Dean told him, pulling him back and taking up a handkerchief to wipe the goo from Sam's face. "But we finally found the bitch."

"I stepped on it," Cas offered reassuringly.

"That s-sucked," Sam said.

"Yeah, I know, little brother," Dean said gently. "But what do you say we get the hell out of here?"

Sam nodded and Dean and Cas helped him to his feet and supported him on their way out to the car. Dean shuddered at the thought of all the times he'd had to cause his brother pain in order to help him. He knew this probably wouldn't be the last time, but he hoped the next instance would be a long time coming.

At least this hunt and ended up all right after all.


	13. Day Thirteen: "Stay"

Castiel stabbed the final werewolf with a firm twist of his angel blade. The beast went down with a thud on the ground, claws ripping from Castiel's sleeve. The angel winced slightly as the claws also tore into his flesh. The sleeve of his coat was shredded, and blood was seeping through but he could fix that well enough later. He may no longer be able to smite creatures, but he could still heal himself at least.

A soft gasp suddenly reminded him of his charge and the fog of battle drained from him as he spun around and hurried to the hunter lying on the ground.

"Sam," he said softly as he crouched beside the younger Winchester.

Sam's eyes were scrunched up in pain as he lay curled on his side, hands pressed desperately to his bleeding abdomen. The wolf had caught him with a clawed hand, another had torn into his shoulder too, but that wasn't what Castiel was worried about.

"Let me see it," he coaxed.

Sam hissed and grit his teeth. "I'm—I'm good, just…just need to…gah!" He tried to shift into an upright position but didn't get more than a few inches onto his elbow before he collapsed and curled even tighter. Castiel reached out to put a hand on his arm, careful not to touch the wounded shoulder.

"Sam, you are not good," Castiel said firmly. "I know I can't heal you, but at least let me do what I can."

Sam was gritting his teeth and didn't seem to be in the mindset to refuse so Castiel gently turned him onto his back. Sam groaned but didn't protest until Castiel took hold of his hands and peeled them away from the wound.

"No, Cas…" Sam tried to plead, but Castiel was already pulling Sam's blood-slicked hands away and peeling up the soaked fabric of his shirt. Even he inhaled sharply at the sight.

Three deep furrows cut through flesh and muscle, nearly piercing through to the innards beneath. Castiel felt sickened at the sight of it, the blood still seeping from the wounds. He felt even sicker because he couldn't heal Sam. He was cut off from Heaven, fallen, and while he could heal himself, he no longer had the ability to heal the humans he had rebelled against Heaven to protect. It was truly a cruel irony.

"Oh, Sam," he said, pained, as he cast about for something he could use to attempt to stop the bleeding.

He ended up pulling off his trench coat and then the suit jacket underneath of it, using that to press against Sam's stomach before he replaced Sam's hands over top of it.

Sam cried out at the pressure, but Castiel kept his hands firmly over Sam's, trying to staunch the blood flow.

"You need to keep pressure on this," he said firmly.

He felt truly helpless. He didn't even know how to heal humans this way. He didn't know how to use the first aid equipment Sam probably had in his bag, and really, Sam's wounds might be more than what he could fix with that anyway. Sam probably truly needed a hospital.

Castiel looked around. Maybe he could get help. Dean would be there soon, he was already on his way. They had called him the moment they realized they were in trouble, that all the werewolves were here instead of where they thought they would be and then they had jumped Sam and Castiel. Thankfully Castiel had gone with the younger Winchester, otherwise, Sam could have been turned or eaten by now.

Castiel looked down at Sam's pale face, lines of pain etched there. Maybe Dean wouldn't get there in time though. Maybe Sam needed help immediately. Castiel wasn't sure if it would damage Sam flying him somewhere in his condition, and he didn't know where the nearest hospital was. Alternatively, he could bring someone here, though for some reason, he didn't think Sam would approve of letting an outsider see all the bodies of the werewolves.

He noticed Sam shivering then, and released his hold on Sam's wound for one moment in order to spread his trench coat over the hunter. It didn't do much, but perhaps it would keep him a little warm. Sam's eyes slid open, looking somewhat surprised at the gesture and Castiel gave him a pained look.

"Sam, I can go get you help," he offered.

Sam shook his head. "I'll—I'll be fine."

Castiel didn't truly believe him, and he almost made to stand up. "Sam, you are injured badly; your body's going into shock at the blood loss…"

"Dean will be here soon," Sam said.

Castiel understood then. Of course Sam wanted his brother the most when he as injured. Castiel was just a pale replacement. And Dean would know what to do, even if he couldn't heal Sam himself, he would still know how to make him comfortable and get him the care he needed.

Castiel nodded. "I can call him, find out exactly where he is and bring him quicker. It will only take a moment." He got his feet under him but was surprised to find Sam had untangled one hand from under his coat and had reached out to grip Castiel's wrist weakly.

"Cas," he said, his eyes almost pleading. "Stay. Please."

The look of pleading in his eyes cut to Castiel's soul and he stayed put, settling back into a sitting position. He took Sam's bloody hand in his and squeezed it, as he reapplied pressure to his wound with his other hand. "I won't leave you, Sam," he promised. "I'll stay right here."

"Thanks," Sam murmured and closed his eyes, looking a little more at peace, even though Castiel could still tell the pain was radiating from him.

Even though he couldn't heal Sam's wounds, if he could still make him comfortable by staying at his side, then that was what he would do.

Castiel would watch over Sam until his brother got there.


	14. Day Fourteen: Torture

Truth be told, Gabriel had never thought much about torture.

Sure, he'd been beat up in skirmishes, and people could argue that he tortured people, but he'd always preferred to use the term 'just desserts', 'comeuppance' whatever. After all, the people he went after as the Trickster deserved it, and he always executed their demises with a flair that few who called themselves 'torturers' ever had.

He never thought about what he would do if he was forced to endure endless amounts of it, certainly. And what exactly that would do to him. He'd seen torture performed, but never once thought 'that could be me'. Of course it would never be him!

And then it was.

At first, he hadn't exactly been sure what Asmodeus wanted with him. He figured he'd just be kept around as a trophy or maybe ransomed to Heaven for some reason. Asmodeus had little going for him as far as the Princes of Hell went. He was weaker than his brothers and sister, and he'd always been on Lucifer's bad side, which made him even more determined to prove himself.

Gabriel had been shocked and indignant when Asmodeus had first come to torture him.

It hadn't been so bad at first. Gabriel could certainly endure what a stupid Prince of Hell decided to do to him. Even if he spent hours laying into Gabriel with a flail specially created with celestial steel barbs until there was no skin on his back—after which he would just start all over again on his front. Or when he took a brand of holy fire to the rest of his body, and threatened to do the same to his wings if he could figure out how to make them corporeal. Or the endless beatings while Gabriel was strung up in sigiled cuffs so he was made no stronger than a weak human. The crunch of a broken nose, the sickening crack and horrifying agony of ribs breaking. Choking on blood from a punctured lung, or other internal injuries because Asmodeus wouldn't stop until his insides were turned to pulp. One broken leg, and then another. And then Asmodeus would leave him in a broken heap where he fell, listening to the snap of his bones fusing back together as he screamed in agony.

Sure…that was all well and good. Gabriel didn't care. He was an archangel after all, a Trickster, Loki God of Mischief, he could take it.

And then Asmodeus apparently got tired of his smart mouth. That was all Gabriel had left, his words, his damned silver tongue that had gotten him into so much trouble over the years, but also out of it. Eventually Asmodeus had had enough, and he had his demons hold Gabriel down, his head strapped up tight as the yellow-eyed bastard slowly, agonizingly, pulled a needle and thick thread through Gabriel's lips. Permanently silencing that silver tongue.

It had gotten worse after that. Asmodeus had aspirations even Gabriel hadn't guessed. He'd been experimenting. And one day when he came into Gabriel's cell while he was lying broken and bloody, recovering from the newest beating, he held a syringe. Gabriel didn't know what he was doing at first, but could do nothing but watch it horror, making unintelligible screams past his sewn lips as Asmodeus jabbed him in the neck and began to extract his grace.

Gabriel had never felt such agony. The feeling of having his grace ripped apart, taken from him, even though it wasn't all at once, it was…

Too much.

Gabriel had never thought he would be broken. That just wasn't in him. A little pain, whatever. He could handle it. He could. But Asmodeus taught him that he couldn't. That he was weak, that he was broken, that he was nothing but an animal. A tap that Asmodeus was allowed to use for his own purposes whenever he wanted. So that he could shoot himself up with archangel grace, make himself into the most powerful Prince of Hell instead of the weakest. And Gabriel began to believe that was true. He began to believe that the only thing he was good for was Asmodeus' drug addiction.

_"You're mine, boy," Asmodeus's hot breath was on Gabriel's neck as he leaned in close, craning Gabriel's head back by a fistful of his hair—blood-matted and disgusting. The needle slid into his neck and Gabriel whimpered and strained, feeling the perpetually half-healed wounds surrounding his mouth grating against the thread that kept his lips together. "You're never going to be anything more than my juicebox. My favorite plaything. No matter what, we're connected, and I'll always find you, boy. Always."_

XXX

Gabriel jolted upright, panting heavily. His hand flew to his mouth and felt skin and stubble, but no thread. He peeled his lips apart and licked them with his dry tongue. He took a shuddering breath, pulling his knees up to his chest and burying his face in his hands.

He was fine, Asmodeus was dead. He was fine.

There was a light knock on the door and he knew it was Cas before he heard the angel's voice. He could feel his grace.

"Gabriel? Are you alright?"

Gabriel took a moment before he looked up, pasting a smile on his face for his little brother. "Oh yeah. I'm peachy."

Castiel knew he was lying. Gabriel wasn't bothered by that. The younger angel simply came into the room and sat in the chair next to the bed. Neither of them said anything but his presence was enough. Gabriel gave him a grateful look and lay back down.

He didn't need that comfort. He was an archangel. He could take care of himself.

But it was also much appreciated.


	15. Day Fifteen: Manhandling

Of course the thing had to be freaking huge. That was Dean's first thought as the monster of the week picked him up by the front of his jacket like he was nothing and tossed him at least twenty feet into the wall of the cave.

They still didn't know what this thing actually was though their best guess was an ogre or troll. It definitely smelled like what Dean would imagine a troll smelled like.

He just hoped it was a troll and that the lore held, because if it didn't he was going to be pulp in seconds.

"Sammy! Hurry!" Dean yelled as the thing roared and took several large, lumbering steps toward him as Dean tried to scramble to his feet. He raised his machete, but it looked like a toothpick compared to the troll and the beast kind of looked like it was sneering at him as it reached out and grabbed him around the chest with both hands.

"Gah, let me go, you fugly bastard!" Dean grunted as the breath was squeezed from him. He hacked at the thing's forearms with his blade but he might as well have been using a butter knife for all the good it did. How thick was this thing's skin?

Dean squirmed, kicking for all he was worth, and the troll looked annoyed at his constant attempt to get away while it was trying to carry him further into the back of the cave where the fire was.

"Quiet," the troll rumbled and angrily threw Dean against the wall. He hit with an expulsion of breath, his machete clattering away as he sprawled on the ground again. His whole body felt like a sack of legos. He wondered how many ribs the troll had cracked.

Dean felt its hand clutch the back of his jacket as he was once against hauled off his feet, this time left dangling from the troll's hand as it carried him to the back of the cave. Dean really hoped Sam had gotten into the right position, because they were going to need to act fast now.

The troll dropped him on the ground and loaded more wood onto the fire.

The smoke from the fire only had a small vent in the top of the cave to escape from and so the back of the cavern was thick with smoke and Dean coughed, trying to make out everything in the fug.

He did see the large caldron bubbling on the fire though. Awesome.

The troll reached down and grabbed Dean by an arm and a leg, hauling him up and slamming him bodily against a wooden slab that functioned as a table—or, considering the stains on it, probably more like a butcher block.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered. He really hoped Sam was almost done.

The troll reached under the table and pulled out a freaking huge cleaver.

"Hunters make good stew," it said, licking its lips.

"I hope you choke on me, bitch," Dean snarled. "Sam! Now!"

The troll growled and slammed a huge hand down against Dean's chest to keep him still while he took aim at his neck.

A whump sounded from up top, and the troll looked up as a crack appeared in the roof of the cave. Dean quickly used its distraction to roll off the table and scramble under it as rocks fell down from the ceiling, revealing bright daylight from outside.

The troll screamed, putting its arms up to shield itself, but too late. The sunlight was already taking effect, and the beast was turning to stone with a horrible crackling.

"Dean!"

Sam was running into the cave, his own machete out but he stopped when he saw the troll. "Whoa. It actually worked."

"Yeah," Dean huffed, hauling himself out from under the table with a grunt, grabbing his back as it twinged. "Good thing too, I was two seconds from being stew."

Sam hurried to offer him a hand and slung Dean's arm around his shoulders as they stumbled through the rubble on their way out. "You okay?"

"Fine," Dean muttered, wincing. "Next time, you're the freaking bait."

Sam smiled. "We'll see who keeps picking scissors, Dean."

Dean grumbled, but when they got back to the motel, Sam had ice packs and pie waiting for him when he got out of the shower, so he would give him a pass this once.

But next time it was totally Sam's turn.


	16. Day Sixteen: Bedridden

Dean took a steadying breath as he washed his hands in the sink, scrubbing them until he had gotten all the blood off. A few doors down, Sam got Cas situated in his room, trying to make him as comfortable as possible now that they had tended his minor wounds.

He had to fight the urge to vomit as his mind flashed back to the harrowing hunt for the umpteenth time.

_Dirt ground into his face as he launched himself away from the wendigo's clawed hands. He gave a screech of anger and Dean hurriedly spun over onto his back, scrambling for his flare gun._

_"Sammy!" he cried. "Shoot!"_

_His younger brother ran up the path and took the shot. Dean ducked, hiding his face, expecting a burst of flames, but the wendigo was too fast. The flare slammed into a tree trunk nearby and the wendigo spun around, lashing out at Sam._

_"Sam!"_

_Cas was suddenly between the thing and Sam, and the wendigo's claws raked across his chest. Cas gasped, but struck out with his angel blade, managing to score a deep wound across the wendigo's ribs._

_It didn't like that at all. It reached for the angel, grabbed him by an arm and slammed his back against the trunk of a tree nearby._

_After that it was all a blur. The sickening crack that sounded out when Cas hit, Dean finally getting a hold of his damned flare gun and scrambling to his feet to end the thing; and finally him and Sam both running over to Cas' crumpled figure once the thing had burnt to a crisp._

_"Cas!" Dean cried, crouching next to the angel, Sam right beside him._

_Cas' eyes were closed and his breaths were shaky. Dean wasn't sure he had ever seen the angel this pale before, and then finally his eyes opened._

_"I—I can't feel my legs," he whispered._

Dean realized the water was still on and angrily twisted the tap, gripping the sink to take some steadying breaths.

The wendigo had broken Cas' friggin' back. Dean still almost couldn't believe it. This was one of the moments he was damned grateful Cas was an angel because otherwise he would probably be dead or at least permanently paralyzed.

But of course that also meant they couldn't take him to the hospital. He'd insisted he would heal, of course, but that didn't change the fact that he was in obvious agony, and that getting him back to the bunker had probably only caused more damage his already weakened grace was going to have to repair. But they'd done what they could, tried to make him as comfortable as possible.

Dean again fought back to urge to vomit, remembering Cas' screams of pain when they had lifted him onto a makeshift sled to carry him through the woods. But they were home now, and Cas could finally start healing. Cas needed them right now, he was going to be bedridden until he healed and Dean didn't know how long this was going to take, though hopefully, now that they didn't have to move him again, it wouldn't take too long.

He took a steadying breath and left the bathroom, heading back down to Cas' room where the door was open. Sam was cleaning up the first aid things. They'd tended Cas' other injuries since they didn't want him to expend even more energy to heal those, and there had been a ton of stitches to patch up the wounds from the wendigo's claws. Sam looked up at Dean with a worried expression as he passed him on his way into the room.

"I'll be right back," he said as he went to throw away the bloodstained bandages.

Dean swallowed hard as he looked at Cas. The angel was pale and rigid. They had given him a back brace in the hopes that it would aid his healing if he couldn't move his spine out of place.

Dean picked up a blanket from the foot of the bed and draped it gently over Cas. The angel stirred and turned his head toward Dean, eyes slitting open. The usual vibrant blue was clouded with pain, almost grey.

"Hello Dean," he murmured.

"Hey, Cas," Dean said, pulling a chair over to the bedside and sitting down. "Are you, uh…you comfortable?"

"I'm okay," Cas replied, even though the lines of pain told Dean another story. "Thank you, for helping as much as you can."

"No problem, man," Dean said. "You have any idea how long it will take to heal?"

Cas' face got a distressed look that he tried to hide quickly. "I don't know. If I get enough rest then maybe not long."

Sam came back in then, with a glass of water and a straw. "Here, Cas, thought you might be thirsty."

Dean helped to raise his head while he drank and then watched as Cas closed his eyes and rested back against the pillow, looking exhausted.

"Is there anything else we can get you, Cas?" Sam asked.

"No," the angel said softly. "I—I just—I don't like not being able to feel my legs. It feels so…vulnerable."

Dean could see the emotions Cas was holding in. He was on the verge of desperation and that was just going to make this worse. He shared a glance with Sam before he reached out and squeezed Cas' shoulder. "Hey, you're not vulnerable. You're safe here, remember? And if anything does get in, it's not getting past Sam and me."

As if to prove Dean's point, Sam pulled Cas' reading chair from the corner of the room and sat down on the opposite side of the bed from Dean.

"That's right, Cas," he said with a reassuring smile, reaching out and gripping Cas' wrist. "And Dean and I are going to stay right here until you heal. We're not going to leave you alone, okay?"

Cas took a shuddering breath, a thousand emotions washing over his face as his eyes got wet. "Th-thank you," he managed to whisper, obviously grateful.

Dean smiled. "That's what family's for, Cas."

"Can I read to you to take your mind off of it?" Sam asked, looking through the books stacked on Cas' bedside table.

Cas blinked wetness from his eyes. "That would be nice."

So they settled down to wait with their injured brother, Sam reading softly and Dean keeping one arm resting on the bed so whenever the pain got too much for Cas, he could reach out and squeeze his wrist.

Cas' healing might take a while, but they weren't going to let him go through it alone either.

Because that was what family was for.


	17. Day Seventeen: Drugged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is set during Season 3

Sam huffed as he watched Dean flirting with a girl on the other side of the bar. The noise was giving him a headache, and he was having a hard time concentrating on his research here. He was still looking for anything he could find that might get Dean out of his deal but so far, neither he nor Bobby had been able to find anything, and of course Dean wasn't going to offer any help. Not to save his own life.

The girl his brother was flirting with let out a loud laugh after Dean had leaned in and whispered something to her. Sam rolled his eyes. Looked like he was going to be heading back to the motel alone. Again. He was getting tired of this, but at the same time, he felt like he couldn't really begrudge Dean anything. If he could find a girl to take his mind off things for a while, who was Sam to stop him?

Sam sighed and stood up from the bar, only to be shouldered aside by a big guy, moving past him.

"Oof, excuse me," Sam muttered under his breath as the guy turned to sneer at him like it was his fault.

Dean was already moving over to him, the girl tucked close to his side.

"Hey, Sammy, Tammy and I are gonna head out. You okay?"

Sam bit his lip to keep from saying anything biting. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"Alright," Dean grinned, and slapped him on the shoulder. "See ya later, kiddo."

Sam pressed his lips together in a thin line as he watched Dean leave, then turned back to the bar and gathered his stuff. He took up his half drunk bottle of beer and downed the last of it.

He stopped by the restroom, then once he was back out in the bar, he pushed past a group of people to get out. It felt close in there all of a sudden. He finally took a deep breath once he got out into the fresh night air. His head had started to feel a little fuzzy in there. He could really use a good night's sleep.

The motel was a few blocks down and Dean had taken the Impala, but Sam didn't mind walking. Maybe it would clear his head.

Which was feeling fuzzier by the second.

He frowned, then felt suddenly dizzy and slightly sick to his stomach. He reached out to grab the bumper of a car next to him and took several deep breaths. What the hell was wrong with him? Had he been…roofied?

Sam glanced back toward the bar, and saw three figures step out of the door; one of them was the man who had bumped into him. Their eyes locked on him now and Sam pretended to ignore them, taking off as quickly and as steadily as possible in the direction of the motel.

He fumbled his phone out of his pocket, forcing his fingers to work as he sent Dean a text: There's something stuck to my shoe.

Or, that's what he tried to text. He wasn't sure he had typed everything correctly. His vision was blurring, and he was having trouble concentrating.

He glanced back over his shoulder, and nearly stumbled, but saw the men still following him.

He reached for his knife inside his jacket. He didn't know who these men were, but he didn't want to find out what they wanted with him.

It was too late though, they were already surrounding him.

One grabbed his arm and hauled him into a back alley. He stumbled as he was thrown against the wall and collapsed onto his knees at their feet, unable to stand any longer.

"Sam Winchester," one of the men sneered, reaching down and grabbing a fistful of his hair to yank his head up painfully. "We've been looking for you, boy."

"Wha' d'you want?" Sam slurred. He was trying to pull his knife free, but was having even more difficulty doing so.

"We want payback," another man snarled. "You opened the Devil's Gate. Let all those demons out. There's a lot of hunters out there than want your blood, boy."

"But we got to you first," the first man said, a leer on his face, as he crouched down to look Sam in the eye. "And we're gonna make you suffer for it."

Sam finally got his knife free and he lashed out with it. But his movements were so slow and clumsy, that the man simply batted his hand aside, wrenching the knife from his weakened grasp.

"Sorry, kid. Not tonight." He raised a fist and Sam braced for the pain to come when the roar of an engine sounded down the street and headlights suddenly blinded everyone in the alley.

"Hey, asshats!" shouted a familiar voice as a silhouetted figure strode forward and kicked the man threatening Sam in the face. He tumbled back with a muffled cry and there was a brief scuffle, before the cocking of a gun.

"Get out of here if you know what's good for you!" Dean shouted.

"Your brother is evil, can't you see that?" one of the men demanded.

"Oh, is that why it took three hunters against one?" Dean demanded, keeping his gun level. "I'm not asking again!"

The hunters hesitated, then finally backed up. "You haven't seen the last of us," one snarled.

"Good," Dean said. "Next time you come after my brother, I'll shoot you."

They hurried off, and as soon as they were completely gone, Dean turned to Sam and reached down to help him to his feet.

"You okay, kiddo?"

"Dean," Sam slurred, leaning heavily against his brother.

Dean frowned. "You drugged?"

Sam nodded. "Roofies." He tried to hold onto Dean tighter, make his legs work, but it was hard. "You came."

"'Course I came," Dean said simply, hauling him back to the car. "Come on, let's get you taken care of."

They drove the couple blocks back to the motel and Dean hauled Sam into the room and lowered him onto his bed. Sam huffed, and groaned, and Dean helped him get his shoes off.

"Okay, you just need to sleep this off," Dean told him, dragging the blankets from under him and tucking them around his body. "I'll have tons of coffee waiting for you in the morning."

"D'n," Sam slurred, already so close to loosing consciousness but reaching out and grabbing Dean's hand anyway. "Thanks."

Dean smiled down at him and squeezed his hand. He reached out with his other hand and tousled Sam's hair gently. "Always, Sammy."

And for that night, Sam fell asleep letting himself believe that Dean would always be there watching over him, just like he always had been.

 


	18. Day Eighteen: Hostage

The room was dark and they had bound her firmly with demon-proof chains. She had been stuffed into the corner away from all the doors and windows of the tiny cabin as if they were afraid she might try to escape. Meg smirked at that thought. Right, because it wasn't like she could move an inch is she wanted to.

There was supposed to be an exchange, but she knew how it would go. The Winchesters would bring the demon they had tortured and pretend to make the trade, but they would just kill all the demons instead, and Meg would end up getting caught in the crossfire. Sam and Dean might pretend to play along with her like she was on their side, but they would never believe it. Not enough to care whether she lived or died.

And Castiel, well…he had more important things to do than come for her.

The demons were moving now, and it was obviously time. Meg pretended nonchalance, leaning back against the corner as one of them came and kicked at her, leering.

"Even if we let you go, they'll probably just kill you, you little whore," the demon snarled. "Or you'll probably just end up in their little hunter's lair as a plaything to try out new torture methods on."

Meg smirked at him. "Let me know if you want to trade places."

The familiar rumbling sound of that Impala came from outside, and Meg knew it was time. Two of the demons left the cabin to negotiate.

"Hey, what about me?" Meg demanded.

"Shut up," one of the demons snapped as the door shut. She slumped, waiting for the inevitable.

She couldn't hear what was being said outside, but it all quickly seemed to go to hell. The demons outside shouted out, and there was a sudden explosion of light.

"What the hell?" one of the demons demanded as they all rushed toward the door.

Meg smiled. "My unicorn is here."

The door flew off its hinges and her knight in shining armor strode inside, six feet of glorious angel warrior. His halo was blazing, along with his eyes, and the demons staggered back. Meg could almost not stand to look at him, but yet she couldn't take her eyes away.

Castiel had a burned out demon by the throat and he threw it down in front of the others.

"There will be no hostage exchange," he growled. And then swung his blade in a blazing arc, taking out one of the demons closest to him.

The demons went frantic, trying to get out of the cabin, or fight him. But he stabbed one, smote another, and then strode over to one who was trying to smoke out and simply shoved the demon back into its meatsuit before he smote that one too.

The final demon ran screaming from the cabin, but was caught by the Winchesters waiting just outside the door and got an angel blade through his chest.

Castiel stood there among the bodies, and cleaned his blade on one of them. If Meg had been standing, she would have been weak in the knees.

"Damn, Clarence," she managed to say.

Castiel turned toward her and his expression softened, but there was still some anger there as he saw the state she was in.

"Meg," he rumbled as he strode over to her, and crouched to see about undoing her chains. "Are you hurt?"

"Nothing of consequence," Meg assured him, and gave a surprised sound as her chains fell away and he simply picked her up and carried her out of the cabin.

"I can walk," she protested half-heartedly. A lie, actually, but her jelly legs were Cas' fault, not from the demon's beating, and she still wasn't quite willing to admit that the angel could take her apart that easily.

"You've been a hostage for two days," Castiel said firmly. "I believe I can carry you."

"Well, at least chivalry's not dead," Meg said and settled more comfortably into his arms, enjoying the feel of his body pressed to hers, the muscles shifting underneath his clothes, and the hum of his grace beneath the vessel.

"Now, what do you say we go home?" Cas asked her as he headed toward the Impala parked a little bit away.

Meg glanced up to meet his eyes, cupping one hand on his jaw. "What do you say you make good on your promise and we order some pizza?" She raised an eyebrow.

Castiel smiled slowly and nodded. "I think I would like that."

Meg wrapped her arms around his neck and breathed in the fresh scent of him. I may have been a surprise that she was even making it out of there alive, but she was extremely happy it had been Castiel who had come to her rescue. She was grateful to feel cared for. It was a strange feeling, but a good one too.

"I'd like that too," she whispered in his ear. Maybe this was the start to a new chapter.


	19. Day Nineteen: Exhaustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is set S14 but no spoilers because I wrote it before Ep2 aired.

"You really think you can get rid of me this easily?" Michael sneered, smirking with Dean's mouth as he stood as close as he dared to the holy fire they had trapped him in. "With some pathetic contraption?"

Sam held up the hyperbolic pulse egg as Cas finished the spell.

"Get out of my brother," Sam snarled and braced himself as lightening cracked and shot from the metal egg and straight toward Michael, hitting him in the chest.

The archangel wearing Dean jolted, spasming from the electrical currents. He growled, trying to fight against it, but it was too strong.

Sam gasped, as he tried to keep his footing. He was so weary; this had to work. It had to. The wind buffeted his body, tearing at his hair and clothes. The electrical currents made his hair stand on end. He took a staggering step back, gritting his teeth as he fought to keep hold of the egg.

"Sam!" Suddenly Jack was there beside him, bracing him, holding onto one of his arms to keep him steady. In another instant Cas was on his other side, the two holding his arms up and the metal egg with it, bracing him from behind so he didn't fail.

Michael seemed stronger than Lucifer when they'd taken him out of the president. He was fighting and Sam felt his energy draining somehow. Michael was screaming incoherently, rigid with the agony of being forced from his vessel.

"Almost! Just a little longer!" Cas shouted, gripping Sam even tighter.

Sam grit his teeth and held on, until finally the last of the energy beams left out of Dean's chest and disappeared.

Sam, Cas and Jack collapsed on the ground in a heap. The world was suddenly still and there was nothing but their breathing.

Sam dragged himself up first, forcing his feet under him. "Dean," he rasped, staggering forward and kicking dirt onto the ring of holy fire. His brother lay limp in the center of it. Sam collapsed beside him, cupping his face in his hands, feeling for a pulse and breath.

"Dean, come on, please. Please be okay," he pleaded, trying to hold back the threatening tears.

Cas and Jack were crouching beside him, waiting breathlessly.

And then Dean's eyes cracked open, and he inhaled sharply. He groaned and Sam let out a half laugh-half sob of relief.

"Dean, thank god," he cried.

"Wh-where am I?" Dean murmured, glancing around, bewildered. "What…"

"It's okay, you're fine, Michael's gone," Sam assured him and simply dragged his brother into a sitting position, throwing his arms around him and holding him tightly. "You're okay now. Everything's fine."

Dean still seemed out of it, but eventually, he hugged Sam back firmly and then Cas and Jack couldn't wait another second and joined in until all four of them were simply clutching each other in relief, unable to say anything.

It was a long time before they all stood up, helping Dean to his feet. He was understandably wobbly and latched onto them tightly.

"Are you hurt?" Cas asked.

Dean was silent for a moment then shook his head. "No. Sore, exhausted. God I'm starving."

Sam huffed a laugh. "Let's go grab something to eat."

They made it back to the Impala and Dean let out a sigh of relief and slumped against his car's side.

"Hey, Baby," he said softly.

Sam bit his lip and reached into his pocket, offering the keys. "Do you…?"

But Dean shook his head. "Not yet." He opened the door and slumped into the seat.

Sam went around to the driver's side and fumbled with the keys once he sat down. His hands didn't want to work anymore. He just wanted to lie down. Now that Dean was safe everything, all his fears, and his anxiety, and his determination were fleeing, leaving only pure exhaustion in their wake. The sleepless nights, and the rough fights had finally caught up to him and felt like they were threatening to eat him alive.

He somehow got onto the road and drove back toward the nearest town. He wanted to be home, back at the bunker, but he didn't think they would make it that night. He certainly wouldn't anyway.

"Sam!"

He jerked, blinking hard as he realized he had been driving off the side of the road. Cas' hand was on his shoulder jerking him back into the real world as he straightened the car.

"Sammy, how long has it been since you slept?" Dean asked tiredly from the passenger seat.

Sam shrugged. "Been looking for you."

"Well, you found me," Dean said. "Now let's find a motel before you crash my car."

Sam glanced into the rearview mirror and saw Cas and Jack nodding in agreement. They looked as exhausted as he felt. Jack was already slumping more heavily against Cas' shoulder. None of them had gotten much rest the last couple days tracking down Michael. Dean obviously had been worn thin too. Sam nodded. "Okay. Next motel, we'll stop."

They went through a drive-through first to grab food and Dean wolfed down two burgers before they even got to a motel. By the time they did, Sam was completely done. He could barely see straight. He actually couldn't remember when he had last slept. It had at least been two days. Probably more. Cas had to go in to rent the room and came back as quickly as possible with the key.

They trooped into the room, or, stumbled really. Dean grabbed a pair of his own clothes from his duffle that Sam had kept in the trunk, and went to change. Sam simply sat on the edge of one of the beds, and before he knew it, he was lying on his back, half on the bed, half off, and Dean was nudging him.

"Mmm," Sam murmured, groggily sitting up and having to catch himself before he fell off the bed.

"Just thought you should take your shoes off," Dean said, "And actually get in the bed."

Sam blinked and kicked his shoes off. Jack was already fast asleep in the other bed, and Cas was sitting up against the headboard beside him, eyes closed.

"I should be taking care of you," Sam protested, looking around as he made to get up. "I—I need to call Mom…" He grabbed Dean's shoulder but the elder brother simply reached out and put his hand around the back of Sam's neck squeezing comfortingly.

"You can. Later. Right now, you sleep. And Cas already called Mom." He patted Sam's shoulder and squeezed. "Thanks for saving me, Sammy," he whispered, eyes wet.

Sam swallowed hard and nodded, clasping his hand over Dean's for a long second before he couldn't stay upright another second. He crashed sideways and allowed his eyes to close.

He was barely aware of Dean's weight on the other side of the bed as he too lay down. They were all too tired to care about sharing, and really, Sam was almost glad for it. The last trace of anxiety left him as Dean settled his back against Sam's and his deep breathing lulled the younger brother to sleep just like when they were kids.

Sam fell asleep, knowing that no matter what came next, they would face it together. And that was good enough for him.


	20. Day Twenty: Concussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a slightly AU coda for 13x12 "Various and Sundry Villains"

Dean groaned as he lowered himself into the Impala. His left knee was shot, but at least he didn't need it for driving. If he'd said it once, he would say it again: he freaking hated witches.

It was even worse when they cast a love spell on him and then proceeded to try and beat him and Sam to death.

Sam grunted as he slumped in the passenger seat too, wincing, and holding his side.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

Sam grunted again, his other hand going to his head. "Yeah. I don't think any ribs are busted, but she clocked me a couple times pretty good."

"How's your head?" Dean asked, noticing the way Sam was squinting his eyes like when he had a headache. He'd taken a couple heavy hits and falls in the fight, and Dean had also knocked him out earlier that day when he'd been under the influence of the spell.

"Think I'm fine," Sam told him tiredly.

"Because you've gotten hit over the head a lot lately," Dean continued.

Sam sighed and winced as he prodded what was probably a lump under his hair. "Let's just go home."

Dean nodded in agreement and started the car. He couldn't wait to ice up his knee.

They were only a little way down the road when Dean noticed Sam shifting uncomfortably. He had pressed his hand over his eyes as if to shield them from the sun and was leaning pretty heavily against the door. Dean watched him for a while out of the corner of his eye, wondering if he should make the first move, when Sam's hand suddenly shot out and pawed at Dean's arm.

"Dean, pull over," he said weakly.

Dean didn't ask, just pulled onto the shoulder. Before he stopped the car, Sam was already opening the door and leaning out, retching.

"Sammy!" Dean called worriedly as he scooted across the seat to grab Sam before he took a face plant onto the ground, wrapping one arm firmly around his chest.

"M'okay," Sam slurred unconvincingly, before his stomach heaved again.

"It's okay, buddy, just get it out," Dean told him. Sam finally felt like a dead weight in his grip and Dean eased him fully back into the car, reaching into the back for a water bottle and grabbing some napkins out of the glove box. He wet one and handed it to Sam but his brother didn't seem to be able to grab it so Dean wiped his mouth for him.

"Sorry," Sam murmured.

"It's okay, Sammy, but I think you got a concussion after all," Dean said worriedly and reached out to pry one of Sam's eyelids open to check his pupils. Sam groaned and jerked away clumsily.

"Yeah, probably," Sam said.

Dean huffed and shook his head as he opened the water bottle and held it while Sam drank. "Dude, you have got to stop getting hit over the head." He capped the bottle and placed it next to Sam's hip before he reached across him and closed the door.

He patted Sam's knee as he settled back behind the wheel. "Not much farther now. Just stay awake for me until we get home."

Sam nodded and leaned back against the window as Dean began to drive again.

He kept an eye on Sam all the way home, and thankfully the younger hunter didn't need to vomit again until they pulled into the garage and Dean tried to help him out of the car. The sudden change in position must have made him nauseous and he just barely missed Dean's shoes.

"Sorry," he murmured.

Dean rolled his eyes. "I'll clean it up later. Let's just get you in bed."

He cringed as he had to support most of Sam's weight while his injured knee screamed at him. He didn't know why they had to have so many freaking stairs in this place, but he finally got down them and into the bunker and dragged his giant little brother toward his room.

They both breathed a sigh of relief as Dean lowered him into his bed, and started to pull Sam's shoes off as Sam struggled with his jacket and flannel. Dean took over and checked Sam's other injuries while he was at it. There were a couple nasty bruises on his ribs that were going to hurt like a bitch, but there wasn't much he could do about that. His fingers prodded the lump of Sam's head too, causing his brother to groan, but he was satisfied that he didn't have a cracked skull or anything.

"Okay," Dean said as he limped away to grab some pain meds for both of them and a glass of water for Sam. He shook out the pills and gave them to his brother, holding the glass for him as he took the pills. "Drink up," he told him.

Sam nodded and swallowed the pills, then laid down with a sigh of relief.

Dean tugged his blanket free and draped it over the younger man. "Get some rest, kiddo. I'll make sure to wake you up every two hours."

Sam nodded, but was already mostly asleep.

Dean went to grab a few things; an ice pack for his knee, and a bucket for Sam. He knew his brother well enough to know that he always got nauseous when he was concussed, and it probably wouldn't be another hour before Sam was up and heaving up his guts again. Dean brought the stuff back to Sam's room and dragged his desk chair over to the bed. He sat down with a sigh of relief, wincing as he propped his leg up on the bed and put the ice pack on his knee. Then he settled in to watch over his brother. Everything else was just going to have to wait until Sam was back on his feet.

 


	21. Day Twenty-One: Harsh Climate

The sun was merciless. Dean had never hated it so much in his life. He hated it as much as the skinwalker he had pissed off so much that it had dragged him away and left him out here. All he wanted was a cloud. And if he was really lucky, some rain.

They'd been hunting the bastard—a skinwalker—out in Arizona and Dean had gotten jumped after they had split up to check out leads. The skinwalker had knocked him out and the next thing he knew, he was waking up while the son of a bitch was staking him down, bare-chested and spread-eagled in the middle of the desert.

"I could eat your heart," the skinwalker told him, digging a clawed hand into the skin above Dean's heart. "But I think I'll let the desert kill you instead. And if it doesn't, then the coyotes will."

And then he had proceeded to make cuts down Dean's bare chest and arms, blood pooling from the wounds and dripping down his sides to soak into the dirt. Then the skinwalker stood, licking the knife clean and sneered. "Goodbye, Dean Winchester." And then he shifted into a coyote and trotted off into the distance.

Dean had spent hours tugging at his ropes as the sun rose higher in the sky, beating down on him more and more mercilessly as the day progressed. His head ached from the heat and the blow he had taken and his cuts scabbed and stung with the sweat that dripped from him. Eventually he could feel his skin burning, his eyes dry and aching from the heat and harsh light. At first the flies had constantly tried to seek moisture from his eyes, but at least now they had stopped that, simply going for scabbed wounds across his chest and arms. Worse even than his eyes was that his mouth and throat were so dry, he nearly choked every time he drew breath. His lips had cracked and bled, and he couldn't even lick them to keep them moist anymore because his tongue was like sandpaper and only tore the tender skin further.

Eventually, all he could do was lay there under the burning, relentless sun, growing dizzier by the hour as his body lost every ounce of moisture it had, and knowing that night was only getting closer and then the coyotes and wolves and whatever the hell else was out there would come and tear him apart. A shudder went through him at that, memories of the hellhounds ripping him apart coming back. He didn't want to experience anything like that ever again.

Maybe if Sam and Cas could find the skinwalker, they would be able to find him too.

He just hoped they wouldn't get there too late.

Night drew on, and finally the setting sun gave Dean a little reprieve. But it also brought the chill of a desert night, and he found himself shivering now, his burned body overly sensitive to the cold. He probably had a fever from heatstroke too, though his body hurt so much he couldn't tell what had caused what.

And then the howls and yips of the nightlife could be heard. Things began to crawl from under the sand and the rocks. Dean could feel things crawling across his bare skin, he didn't want to think about what they were, but closed his eyes and mouth firmly, hoping they wouldn't crawl over his face, or up the leg of his jeans. It was certainly possible that things could get worse than they already were.

And of course they could get even worse than that. He heard the howls of the coyotes and they were close. They would smell the blood, and once they found him, helpless, vulnerable prey, they would have a nice supper.

Dean gave a useless jerk at his bonds again but it was no use. He'd already torn his wrists and ankles to bleeding earlier and it had only tightened the leather straps. He had no strength anymore anyway.

It wasn't long before the coyotes wandered up, curious. There was three of them, and maybe more were coming. Dean struggled as much as he was able; maybe showing them he could put up a fight would scare the damn scavengers off. He thought they usually ate dead things anyway. He tried to shout too, but a hoarse grunt was all that came out of his dry throat and it just made it ache.

One coyote came closer and snuffed cautiously at the blood crusting Dean's ribs. He let out a pitiful whimpering sob as he braced for the inevitable.

And then an unfamiliar engine sounded in the distance and lights flared too bright in the darkness. Dean cringed and flinched as a gunshot rang out, startling the coyotes away.

"Dean!" He could feel the footsteps pounding through the ground and suddenly Sam and Cas were hovering over him.

"S-S'mmy," Dean tried. "C-Cas…"

"Shh, Dean, don't talk," Sam hushed. "Oh god, you look awful."

Dean wanted to retort, but couldn't talk. His mouth and throat were too dry, and words felt like glass in his throat. He could feel someone tugging at his numb hands and realized Cas was cutting him free. Sam did the same with his feet and finally the straps were gone, but he couldn't move.

He made a pitiful sound of protest as Cas simply heaved him over his shoulder and carried him toward the jeep he and Sam had driven out there.

"Sam he's in terrible condition, we need to get him back now."

Dean remembered little about the ride back into town, just Sam driving very fast and Cas checking him over. Then the next thing he knew he was lying on a soft surface and there was warm, electric light and someone was replacing his jeans with sweatpants. Dean murmured a protest but he suddenly didn't care as a hand slipped under his head and raised it slightly, pressing something hard to his bleeding lips.

"Drink, Dean," Cas told him. "Just a little."

Dean didn't need coaxing. He parted his lips and allowed Cas to spill a little water into his mouth. It took him several tries to swallow and when he did he almost choked, but after a few more sips he could feel the water soothing his throat and wetting his mouth. He felt it trickling down inside of him, a cool, soothing wetness that took away some of the glass shard feeling of his insides.

"God, he's a mess," Sam commented, rejoining them and pressing a wet towel to Dean's chest, cleaning the blood and sand and sweat from him as gently as possible. Dean moaned, just wanting more water, but they seemed adamant about cleaning him off first. The cleaned his upper body and his face and hair, which caused the critical sunburns he had gotten to sting and make his skin feel on fire.

"Hurts," he moaned. "Sammy."

"Hold on, Dean," Sam said softly and a few seconds later they apparently finished. Dean heard rustling and then cracked his bloodshot eyes open to watch Sam retrieve a bottle of something, which he squeezed into his hands and then began gently spreading over Dean's chest and stomach. The coolness instantly soothed the ache and Dean sighed, relaxing back onto the pillows more.

"The aloe vera will help," Sam assured him. He put some on Dean's face too, and though it made some of his cuts sting, it took the majority of the tight pain associated with the sunburn away.

"Thanks," Dean murmured.

"More water?" Cas asked and he nodded and eagerly took a few more sips.

"Skinwalker?" he whispered after getting his breath back.

"Dead," Sam assured him. "But not before we made him tell us where to find you."

"He was very sorry," Cas said simply.

"Glad you did," Dean whispered, his eyes sliding shut again.

He felt someone pull a light sheet over him. "Rest, Dean," Sam told him.

He didn't need anymore coaxing. Now that he was finally safe with his family, Dean allowed himself to fall asleep.


	22. Day Twenty-Two: Friendly Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is set sometime during S12 after "Stuck in the Middle"

Sam quickly salted the doors and windows, throwing another can to Dean who slammed the door to the tiny cabin shut and looked around for something to bar it.

"We are so screwed in here," he growled pouring salt in front of the door.

Cas and their mom stood behind them, both holding onto weapons and glancing around to see if there were any other openings that the demons could get through.

"Why are demons all of a sudden gunning for us anyway?" Dean demanded, throwing the empty salt container to the side as he peeked out the window to look for their pursuers.

"They're looking for information on Kelly Kline," Cas said grimly. "Angels, demons…it's going to be a battle over who gets to the child first."

Sam looked at the angel. "And with Kelly still in the wind, I guess they think we're hiding her."

Cas raised an eyebrow. "Well, to be fair, usually when major things go down in the supernatural community, you and Dean are caught right in the middle of it."

Sam frowned, but couldn't deny Cas was right. Dean groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, which is just our luck. But that doesn't help us now."

"No, but this might," Mom said, pulling something from her coat that looked like a grenade.

"What the hell is that?" Dean asked.

"It's…" she glanced between them somewhat guiltily. "It's from the Men of Letters. It's supposed to be some kind of magical bomb."

"And it works on demons?" Dean asked skeptically.

Mary nodded. "Yes, that's what it was made for. It shouldn't harm humans."

"Awesome, and the Brits are so reliable," Dean muttered.

Sam glanced out the window and saw more demons gathering, just standing there. He glanced back at the others. "Dean, if it works, we should try it. We're surrounded and there's too many of them for us to fight off without help."

Cas nodded too. "He's right, Dean. I advise you to let your mother use this."

Dean grunted, but nodded. "Fine. But this still doesn't make you working with them okay."

Mom sighed and shook her head. "Alright, get ready."

Sam and Dean took up position on either side of the door and Cas was right behind their mom, ready if demons charged them suddenly. She grasped the door handle and glanced at them. They all nodded back.

The demons watched as they opened the cabin and started forward.

"Come on out, Winchesters," one called mockingly. "We just want to talk."

"Now, Mom," Sam said and his mom pulled the pin on the grenade and threw it.

They all ducked back into the cabin, closing the door and then there was an explosion.

The backlash blew the door in and a puff of dust washed over them, pluming harmlessly against Sam's body as he covered his face.

The demons however, didn't seem so lucky.

Howls of pain and shock came from outside and as Sam dared to look he saw all the demons writhing on the ground, sparking out in agony. The dust from the grenade was settling, forming glowing runes on their bodies. It must have been some kind of spellwork.

"Whoa," Dean breathed. "I guess it did work."

A sudden gasp of pain sounded behind them and Sam and Dean whirled around to see Cas clutching at the side of his neck with a shocked expression on his face before he cried out and collapsed to his knees.

"Cas?" Dean shouted, rushing toward the angel and catching him before he hit his head on the ground.

"Oh god," Sam cried, joining his brother.

"What's wrong?" Mom asked.

Dean peeled Cas' hand away from his neck and Sam's eyes blew wide as he saw what looked like burn marks, and a red glowing brand on his skin just like what had covered the demons.

"What the hell is this?" Dean demanded, and left Cas to Sam's care as he stood and whirled around on their mom. "Did you know this worked on angels too?"

"What? No, of course I didn't; how could you think that?!" Mom cried. "Dean, I would never have used it if I knew…"

"Mom, we know, it's okay," Sam said frantically, holding Cas tightly as the angel spasmed.

"Okay?" Dean demanded. "What the hell is okay about this, Sam?"

"Would you two stop and help Cas?!" Sam shouted.

They finally shut up and crouched next to Sam and the angel. Dean didn't look happy that their mom was anywhere near him but at least he wasn't arguing anymore. And yeah, Sam was pissed Mom hadn't read the warning label, but he knew it hadn't been her fault. It's not like the Brits cared what other supernatural creatures got caught in the crossfire of their missions.

Cas groaned and reached up to claw at his neck again.

"Don't touch it, man," Dean said as he grabbed the angel's wrist and clutched it tightly in reassurance. "Sam I don't even know what this is."

Sam shook his head. "I don't either, but it's not working the same way as it did on the demons."

Cas' eyes slit open and he groaned. "Get—get it off," he managed to grind out.

"We will, Cas, as soon as we find out how," Sam assured him, holding onto the angel tighter as he continued to shudder. He looked closer and saw that the burns on Cas' skin looked like they were being caused by whatever that red powder was, which was not stuck to his skin. "Dean, maybe we do need to physically get it off. Maybe there's a counter potion or something."

"Like a supernatural grease lift?" Dean asked.

"It was a powder," Mom offered. "That may have had all the spell components in it and if we can scrub it off, we may be able to stop this."

Dean was already reaching into his pocket and grabbing his phone. He snapped a quick picture of the strange rune and then stood to go make the call. Sam could tell it was Crowley he was calling, and after a few moments of grumbled threats, Dean closed the phone.

"Okay, Crowley gave me a recipe that might work. I'm gonna go grab the stuff from the car." He hurried out among the dead demons and left Sam and his mom there with Cas.

"Sam, I'm sorry," Mom said.

Sam shook his head. "I know it was an accident, but…" He trailed off as Cas opened his eyes and looked directly at Mom.

"Mary, it…wasn't your f-fault," he ground out. "You did kill the d-demons."

Mom gave him a pained look as she took his hand and squeezed it. "I just hate being responsible for getting you hurt again, Cas."

Dean flew back inside with a bowlful of ingredients and dropped down next to Cas, pouring stuff into the bowl and mixing thoroughly. Then he grabbed a rag and dipped it in the stuff.

He took a breath. "Let's hope this works," he said and started to dab at the burn marks on Cas' neck.

Cas cried out and Sam and Mom both had to hold him steady as Dean worked. It took some doing but eventually the rune stopped glowing and red dust came away on the cloth. They all breathed a sigh of relief. Dean poured the rest of the mixture over Cas' skin to make sure all of it was gone, but once he was done, there was just what looked like acid burns and a mark from the rune that would hopefully heal once Cas started to recover.

The angel breathed easier, and the shudders had stopped wracking his body. His eyes opened and he gazed at all of them gratefully.

"Cas, you good?" Sam asked him.

The angel winced slightly, but nodded, touching his neck gingerly. "It…it felt like it was attacking my grace."

Dean's eyes turned worried. "It didn't do any permanent damage, did it?"

Cas seemed to look inward but shook his head. "No, It didn't work nearly as fast on me as it did on the demons and I only got hit with a little of it."

"Castiel, I'm so sorry," Mom said again.

The angel shook his head. "I told you it wasn't your fault."

Dean snorted slightly and Cas glanced over at him with a firm look. Dean cleared his throat and stood, reaching down to offer Cas a hand. "Come on, let's get you home."

They helped Cas stand between them and guided him out to the Impala. Sam knew they had been lucky this time but he didn't want a repeat of it either. He decided that from now on they would thoroughly check anything the Brits gave them before they used it around Cas.

But right now, they would be thankful they had all gotten out of there alive.


	23. Day Twenty-Three: Self-Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is set during Season 3

The demon approached Sam with the knife, a grin on his face. Sam struggled, but he had been tied hand and foot and the best he could do was wriggle like a fish out of water.

The demon reached down and grabbed a fistful of his hair, wrenching his head back with a leer.

"Oh, the things I'm going to do to you, Sammy," he said, eyes flicking black. "You're going to pay for killing our father Azazel."

"Don't! Leave him alone."

The demons all turned around to where Dean had been lying unconscious against the wall since they were captured, but was now awake, propping himself up on an elbow. Blood already ran down the side of his face from the blow earlier, the demons hadn't even bothered to tie him up.

"Take me instead," Dean insisted. "I'm the one you want anyway. I'm the one who shot old Yellow-Eyes in the head."

Sam's stomach plummeted. "Dean, no," he breathed.

But Dean's sneer of defiance dared the demons and the one holding Sam looked between them. He then looked at the rest of the demons who were simply eager for bloodshed and nodded.

"Take him. We'll save Sammy for later, when Dean is more compliant."

"No!" Sam yelled as he was thrown aside and he could only watch, helpless, as demons swarmed his brother.

Dean had gained his feet before the demons jumped him, but it didn't last long. They surrounded him and Sam could hear the dull thuds of fists hitting flesh interspersed with Dean's taunts. The whole time, Sam was yelling at them to stop, but he was being ignored, the demons having much more fun beating his brother to pulp.

With one heavy kick, Dean was thrown out of the circle to sprawl on the ground a few feet from Sam. The head demon pushed through the others and stalked over to the elder Winchester who was struggling to raise himself on his elbows. The demon sneered and simply shoved his foot into Dean's chest, forcing him back with a grunt.

"You and your brother have become a serious pain in our collective asses," the demon sneered and suddenly stomped on Dean's stomach, causing him to cry out and curl into himself. The demon then proceeded to kick him in the stomach over and over again until Dean almost retched.

"Stop!" Sam cried helplessly as Dean rolled over, trying to protect his middle.

The demon simply gave Sam a smirk and slammed his foot into Dean's lower back instead. Dean cried out and started to crawl away but the other demons hemmed him in, one kicking him in the face and sending him to the floor with a spatter of blood and drool. Dean groaned and again tried to push himself up with shaking arms.

"Dean, stay down, for the love of god, stay down!" Sam pleaded with his brother, furious tears hanging in his eyes because he couldn't do anything. But of course Dean didn't listen. He managed to get to his hands and knees before the demon got tired of indulging him and kicked him firmly in the backside, sending Dean crashing back to the floor face-first into the blood collected there.

"Dean please," Sam choked out past a sob, yanking on his ropes to no avail. "Leave him alone, you bastards!"

The demon chuckled, crouching down and grabbing Dean by the back of his collar and hauling him to his knees in front of Sam. His face was a mess of blood, probably a broken nose, and one eye already completely swollen shut. Sam wouldn't be surprised if his cheekbone was cracked.

The demon gripped a fistful of Dean's hair and wrenched his head back, leaning in close. "Leave him alone? Sammy, your brother's just going to have to get used to this. After all, what do you think he has to look forward to when he goes to Hell?"

Dean stiffened slightly, and Sam ground his teeth as he fought against his ropes again. The demon smirked and pulled a dagger from his belt, reaching around to trace it down Dean's throat. "And this? Well, this isn't anywhere close to how bad it can get down there." He leaned close to Dean's ear and Sam's brother tried to pull away with disgust. "You have no idea how bad it really will be. You want a little taste to prepare yourself?"

"Screw you," Dean grunted, jerking away from the demon who stood up and kicked him in the shoulder to force him back to his hands and knees.

"Face it, Dean. You play like you don't care, like you're the big bad hero, and you can handle it. But really you're scared to death." He kicked Dean in the ribs, sending him toppling onto his side. "You won't have Sammy there to be strong for. I bet if he wasn't here you'd be crying by now."

"With this little beating?" Dean said with a smirk. "Buddy you all kick like twelve-year-old girls."

The demon kicked him heavily in the stomach again and Dean whuffed out air with a groan. "You can pretend. That's fine. But think of this too. When you're down there, little Sammy here, he won't have you to protect him from all of us. And we're going to have lots of fun with him then."

Dean growled and launched himself at the demon. "Not if I kill all of you first!"

The demon simply threw a punch to Dean's face and laid him flat with a moan. "Of course you will." He flipped his knife in his hand and kicked Dean one more time as he stepped over him. "Now, Sammy here is looking a little impatient I think."

All of a sudden the emergency sprinklers in the old warehouse turned on and rained down on them. Sam wasn't sure what was going on until the demons started to scream and burn.

Holy water?

The head demon turned to snarl at the Winchesters. "This isn't over, boys," he said before he smoked out and the other demons were close to follow.

Bobby ran in then with a shotgun held ready.

"Bobby!" Sam cried in relief.

"You boys all right?" Bobby demanded as he hurried over to them and dropped down next to Dean who was lying in a bloody mess and still trying to sit up.

"We're good," he slurred, wincing as he spit out a gob of blood. "Get Sammy untied."

Bobby gave him a sharp look, but cut Sam's ropes and Sam instantly dragged himself over to Dean's side, helping him sit up and fully taking in the damage the demons had done.

"Oh god, Dean," he said, his voice tight. "You look like hammered crap."

"Feel like it," Dean replied.

"Why the hell would you do that?" Sam demanded, wanting to punch his brother, but, obviously that would do little good right now.

Dean sighed. "Had to buy time for Bobby to get here."

"By letting them use your face to clean the floor?" Bobby asked wryly.

Dean shrugged. "It was me or Sammy."

Sam seethed. "Then why is it always you, Dean? Why are you the only one who's allowed to sacrifice himself?"

Dean grinned, causing his split lip to bleed even more. "Cause that's just who I am, Sammy. I look after you."

Sam choked out a sob and clenched his fist in Dean's jacket but didn't say anything else. There would be no reasoning with Dean, and it wasn't going to change anything anyway. He couldn't say what he really wanted to. That he was dying inside, knowing his brother was going to Hell. For him. That there was nothing he could do about it because Dean wouldn't let him. He wouldn't let Sam save him. And that all Sam could think about was life without his brother. He finally sniffed and got to his feet shakily. "Fine, then let's at least get you cleaned up."

Both he and Bobby had to support Dean all the way back to the cars, but Sam couldn't get the image out of his head. The pure unapologetic, almost happy certainty, on Dean's face when he told Sam that sacrificing himself was just who he was and there was obviously nothing Sam could do about it.

Sam had never been so infuriated by his brother, but he had never seen so much love either.


	24. Day Twenty-Four: Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is set at some point during season 14 because it's after Jack lost his powers.

The scream ripped across the water and Castiel sped up on the heels of the Winchesters.

"Look!" Jack cried, pointing out into the lake.

A young girl was trying to swim to shore as fast as she could but there was something behind her. There had been several drownings in the area, and they had found out the culprit was a kelpie, a carnivorous water horse that would drag unsuspecting passers-by into the water where it would drown them and proceed to have them for supper. It looked like it had just found its next victim.

They raced out onto the dock and Sam bent to untie the boat that was there, but Castiel knew they wouldn't get to the girl in time.

Jack seemed to see that too, because he suddenly raced back to the shore.

"That will take too long! It's going to kill that girl!"

"Jack!" Castiel shouted, reaching out to stop him, but Jack was already running into the water and hurrying as fast as he could over to the girl who was flagging.

"Can he even swim?" Dean asked, as they finally got the boat untied and he and Sam got in it, guns at the ready, with wrought iron bullets. The kelpie was a fairy creature and so iron was their best bet at making sure it stayed dead.

"No," Castiel said. "You go out on the lake, I'll help him with the girl."

Castiel ran back to the shore and stood, watching with bated breath as Jack got to the child as quickly as he could. But the kelpie was right behind them.

"Jack, be careful!" he shouted.

Dean raised his gun as Sam rowed, and shot near the place where the kelpie was disturbing the water.

Jack finally got to the girl now that he was chest deep in the water and reached out to grab her. She clung to him frantically. Castiel threw his coat off and was already wading into the lake to help when Jack suddenly cried out and was jerked backwards.

"Castiel, take her!" he cried, shoving the screaming child away from him before he was dragged under.

"Jack!" Castiel cried, echoing Sam and Dean's shouts from twenty yards away. He fished the crying girl from the water and hurried back to the shore, wrapping her in his coat to keep her warm in the chill air.

"Stay here," he commanded and then ran back into the lake, swimming out to the place where Jack had disappeared.

"Do you see him?" Castiel called to the Winchesters.

"No!" Sam shouted back as they rowed closer.

Castiel dove down into the lake. The struggling had stirred up the sandy bottom and it was almost impossible to see, but Castiel finally caught some movement and frantically made his way toward it.

He reeled back as the kelpie suddenly appeared in front of him, its oddly sharp teeth horrifying in the mouth of the small pony-like creature.

He lashed out with his blade, catching the creature across the shoulder and it streaked away. He let it go. The Winchesters would deal with it; he had to find Jack.

As he swam further, he found a path of weeds that were thick and tangled. He searched frantically, clawing through them, when he found a bloated piece of arm. He reeled back in horrified disgust. This must be the kelpie's nest, where it kept its victims.

And then he saw a dark blue jacket, the same Jack had been wearing, and he swam forward, digging through the weeds until he unearthed the boy. Jack was limp, his eyes closed. His right ankle was bleeding, probably from where the kelpie had clamped its teeth in him to drag him down.

Castiel gripped him by the back of his coat and started swimming toward the surface.

When he finally broke the surface, it was to the sound of gunfire and a horrible braying shriek.

"Cas!" Sam's voice came from nearby, and Castiel turned and saw the boat coming toward him. Dean leaned over the side, his gun pointed at the water where Castiel saw a red stain spreading.

Sam reached a hand over the side and helped Castiel haul Jack's limp body into the boat then he climbed in himself.

"It's dead?" Castiel asked Dean.

The hunter nodded. "Yeah. How's Jack?"

"Not breathing," Sam said, crouching beside the boy. Castiel felt a pang in his chest and watched as Sam laid Jack flat and cleared his airway before he started to perform CPR.

Castiel and Dean watched with bated breath as Sam continued, trying to get the water out of Jack's lungs, and then finally, the boy's chest spasmed and he jolted back to consciousness, water gushing from him. Sam and Castiel both reached to steady him, and help him onto his side so he wouldn't choke as he brought all the water up.

"You're okay, you're okay," Sam murmured, relief on his face as he patted Jack's back.

Jack let out a gasping sob and sank back against them before he looked around frantically, trying to get out of Castiel's hold, even though he hardly had any strength.

"The girl…" he gasped. "And the kelpie!"

"The girl's fine, she's on the shore. You saved her," Castiel reassured him.

"And the kelpie's dead," Dean added.

Jack shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself. "I…I thought I was going to die down there."

"Jack, you know we'll always come for you," Castiel told him softly, reaching up to brush the wet hair out of his eyes.

Sam shrugged out of his jacket to wrap around Jack's shivering frame. "You're gonna be put into those kinds of positions while hunting—believe me, we've all had our fair share of harrowing spots." He glanced between Castiel and Dean. "But we always have each other's backs."

"We always get each other back safe," Dean added firmly and reached for the oars. "Now let's get back to shore so you can dry off and we can get that kid back home."

Jack nodded and huddled in the bottom of the boat between Castiel and Sam, obviously still shaken, but all right. Once they patched up his ankle and got him some dry clothes, he would be fine. Castiel was grateful.

"I think maybe I should learn how to swim," Jack said after a while, and Sam chuckled, nodding.

"That would probably be a good idea too," he said.


	25. Day Twenty-Five: Restraints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is an alternate version of "When the Levee Breaks"

Dean and Bobby held Sam down as he thrashed through a seizure or whatever the hell was happening to his brother. Whatever it was, Dean was terrified. They'd come down to the panic room to find Sam being flung around by nothing while in the throws of whatever the demon blood was doing to him.

Bobby ripped off his belt and forced it between Sam's teeth so he couldn't bite his tongue off. "We're gonna have to tie him down. For his own safety," the older hunter said grimly. "Dean?"

Dean watched his brother, feeling helpless. He always knew what to do for his brother, but he had no freaking clue how to fix…this. He'd known quitting the demon blood cold turkey wouldn't be pleasant, but he hadn't expected the violent seizures and the hallucinations Dean had been listening to his brother suffer through the last few agonizing hours.

"Dean! You hearing me? Before he has another fit!"

Dean finally snapped out of his stupor, and swallowed hard, nodding.

"Yeah, yeah, let's just get it over with," he said, still struggling to keep Sam pinned to the ground. Tying him up was the last thing he wanted to do, but he knew it was only to keep Sam safe. Still, he didn't think it would do the kid any favors with all the hallucinations he was going through.

The fit finally eased up, so that Sam was just shuddering but at least not flailing and flying around the room anymore. Dean and Bobby took that opportunity to move Sam onto the small army cot. Dean stayed by his brother's side, a hand pressed firmly to his chest to keep him there, as Bobby went to grab the cuffs.

Dean felt sick to his stomach as Bobby attached the cuffs to the rails of the cot.

"Wait," he said, before they locked Sam's wrists in. He reached for a cloth on the workbench and ripped it in two, wrapping the pieces around Sam's wrists before Bobby fixed the handcuffs around them. It would ease the strain a little when Sam struggled and Dean knew it was too much to hope that he wouldn't be doing any of that.

Bobby locked his ankles down too and stood staring down at Sam with a grim expression. Dean glanced up at him from where he still knelt beside the cot.

"What are we gonna do?" he asked helplessly.

Bobby shook his head, taking off his hat to run a hand through his hair. "Hell if I know. I don't have a clue what do to with this. About all we can do is let it burn itself out."

"And if it burns Sam out with it?" Dean demanded.

Bobby shrugged, just as helpless as Dean. "We'll hope for the best, but you know we can't give him anymore blood, Dean. That's not an option."

"I know," Dean grunted and stood to pull a chair over to the cot. "I'm gonna stay with him though."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "You sure that's a good idea?"

"He's chained to a freaking bed, Bobby," Dean snapped. "Even if he goes into another fit, he's not gonna do anything to me. Besides, he shouldn't be alone right now."

Bobby nodded. "Okay, well, let me know if you need anything." He left the room and the heavy iron door shut behind him.

Dean watched Sam for a long time, monitored his breathing, which sometimes came in sharp bursts as if he were dreaming, his eyes sliding frantically beneath his eyelids. But he wasn't screaming anymore, so that was good at least. Sam still twitched and whimpered, though, looking he looked like he was in pain. Dean thought the demon blood must have been burning through him. He got up eventually and wet a cloth to press against Sam's sweat-slicked forehead. It may have done little to no good, but it made Dean feel better to have something to do.

Eventually Sam stirred and his eyes flickered open. He came awake groggily and tried to move his arms. It was then he noticed the restraints and his eyes flew wide. He tried to sit up, yanking on them frantically.

Dean leaned forward and grabbed his shoulder only to have Sam flinch away from him with a cut off cry.

"Sammy, it's me, you're okay," Dean tried.

"Let me go!" Sam cried, obviously not seeing Dean as he focused on yanking on the restraints.

"Sam, we had to," Dean tried to reason with him. "The demon blood was flinging you all around the room."

"You're not real," Sam moaned, yanking more forcefully against his chains. "These aren't either. It's just the demon blood messing with my head."

Dean leaned over and gripped Sam's wrist. "Sammy, they are real. So am I. You're not hallucinating right now, okay?"

Sam slumped back on the bed, closing his eyes. "Doesn't matter anyway," he murmured softly. "Dean thinks I'm a freak."

The words stabbed Dean right in the heart. He sighed and ran a hand over his face. "No, I don't, Sammy. I just…I'm worried. About you, about…this." He gestured to Sam lying on the cot. "I know you thought you had to do this, to defeat Lilith, but it's not the answer. You don't have to do this alone, Sam. We'll do it together."

But Sam shook his head again. "No we can't. You're not strong enough. Not anymore. Not after Hell."

Dean felt his stomach twist at his brother's words. Was he right? Maybe he was. He swallowed hard. "No, maybe I'm not, but look at you, Sammy. You really think you're strong enough to defeat her?"

A tear leaked from Sam's eye, and he yanked viciously at his cuffs, undoubtedly bruising his wrists despite the padding. "I have to! Let me out!"

Dean leaned forward and pressed his hands against Sam's shoulders, trying to get him to stop struggling. "Sammy, listen to me, I'm going to get you through this, and we're going to stop this thing together, okay? You don't need the demon blood to be strong."

Sam let out a sound of pain, writhing against Dean's hold. "It doesn't matter! You're not real! Just stop talking! Leave me alone!"

He turned his head aside and Dean swallowed hard, reaching out and gripping Sam's hand tightly. "Sammy, it's really me. I'm not gonna leave you, little brother. We're gonna get through this together."

More tears slid down Sam's face but he finally turned back around, eyes meeting Dean's for the first time.

"Dean? It's really you?" he asked shakily as if Dean would suddenly disappear.

Dean squeezed his hand hard enough to feel Sam's bones shift, but his brother needed the reassurance that he was there. "It's really me."

A multitude of emotions washed over Sam's face before he tentatively squeezed back, then held onto Dean's hand with a death grip. He tried to reach out with his other hand too, but the cuff stopped him.

"Can you take these off?" he pleaded. "Please, I don't…"

Dean bit his lip but shook his head. "Let's keep them on for a little longer, in case you have another fit, okay? It's to keep you from hurting yourself." Dean squeezed his hand again as Sam started to get a panicked look in his eye. "But I'm not going anywhere. I'm gonna stay right here with you. And whatever you see, it's just crazy crap that the demon blood wants you to see, okay? It's not gonna hurt you. Especially with me here."

Sam finally relaxed again, and slumped against the cot, looking exhausted. He jerked his head in a nod. "Okay."

Dean smiled at him and reached out with his free hand to smooth the hair from Sam's sweaty forehead. "Just rest, Sammy. When you wake up we'll figure this out. Together."

Sam nodded again, his eyes drooping. Dean knew it wouldn't really be that easy. They had to save the freaking world, after all, but if they could at least reconcile their differences, then maybe, just maybe, they really would have a chance.


	26. Day Twenty-Six: Broken Ribs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is set in Season 12

"Don't let him get away!"

Castiel heard Dean shout from across the parking lot and took off toward the vampire that was making a quick escape toward his car. The other vampires were keeping the Winchesters busy so their leader could escape, but Castiel was right on his heels.

"Stop!" he shouted, and spun his knife so he was carrying it by the blade and threw it hard toward the vampire. Unfortunately, he ducked into the car at just that moment and started the engine.

Castiel raced forward, but didn't see the second vehicle coming around the corner until the headlights blinded him. He turned, too late to move, and threw his arms up against the light and the inevitable impact.

The car struck him hard, flinging him over the hood and then sped away as he was tossed aside from the momentum, collapsing in a heap as the two cars screeched out of the parking lot.

"Cas!"

Castiel tried to force himself to his feet to see if any vampires were left, but agony tore through him and his arms gave out, forcing him back onto the asphalt.

Two pairs of running feet came into his periphery and soon Sam and Dean were crouched beside him.

"Cas, are you hurt?" Dean asked, a hand on his shoulder.

Castiel grunted. He hurt, yes, but was it serious? He didn't know. He just knew that it wasn't anywhere near the agony that he had experienced when Ramiel had stabbed him with Michael's lance. "I—I think I'm okay," he said as he forced himself upright again. Sam and Dean offered steadying hands and he managed to sit, though he could now tell that his right side really did hurt. It had taken the brunt of the impact. "The vampires?"

"They got away for now, but Sam got the license plates. We'll be able to track them down."

"You sure you're okay?" Sam asked, concern obvious in his eyes.

Castiel fought the urge to roll his. "Yes, just help me up, please?"

They both stood and pulled him with them, but the sudden upright position brought agony to his side and he doubled over, unable to help crying out.

"Cas?" the brothers asked at once, their hands the only thing keeping him upright.

He dragged in a deep breath to steady himself but that just made the pain flare up even more. He gasped, unable to draw a breath and choked. Coughing was painful and it took everything he had to stop himself. For a second, panic set in. All he could think of was choking on the poisonous corruption Michael's lance had nearly killed him with. It was only then he realized the palm he had brought up to his mouth was covered in specks of blood, and there was a metallic taste in his mouth.

"Shit," Dean breathed. "Cas, is it your ribs?"

Castiel still couldn't talk, but he nodded, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"I think he's got a punctured lung," Sam said grimly. "Dean, we need to get him back to the motel."

"I'll heal," Castiel protested. "Just…I just need some time…"

"Yeah, and rest," Dean said firmly. "Because you've taken a few hits lately, and you're not back up to power. It might take you longer than normal to heal, and a punctured lung isn't anything to sneeze at."

Castiel wanted to argue, put on a brave face, but Dean was right. He probably wouldn't even be fully healed by tomorrow.

"Come on," Dean told him, keeping a hand on his elbow as he and Sam supported Castiel on the way back to the Impala.

Castiel grunted in pain as he slid carefully into the backseat. The drive back to the motel was agony, even though Dean was careful not to hit any unnecessary bumps. Getting out of the car wasn't fun either, but he had a soft bed to look forward to once they got inside.

All he wanted to do was lay down and sleep this off, but Dean shook his head as he postured to get into the bed.

"Lying down's not gonna help you, it will just make you feel like you're suffocating if you're coughing up blood," Dean told him and nodded to Sam. "Bring the other pillows over here."

Sam took the pillows from one bed and started to arrange them against the headboard of the other. Dean helped Cas with his coat and then finally helped him sit on the bed propped up straight by all the pillows. Castiel's chest still hitched, but he didn't hurt as badly as he had in any other position. As long as he didn't slump too much he was fine.

"I'll grab some ace wraps from the car," Sam said. "We'll have to bind your side up so the ribs don't shift."

Castiel nodded and Dean set to work unbuttoning his shirt and opening it to see the damage. He cursed as Castiel's side was revealed, and the angel looked down and saw dark bruises spreading all down his side. There was a lot of swelling too, and a misshapen spot that was obviously from the breaking point. He swallowed hard and looked away, sudden nausea overcoming him.

Dean reached out and prodded his side. Castiel flinched and inhaled sharply, which didn't help him at all. He fought back the urge to cough again, knowing that would only cause more damage.

"You hurt anywhere else?" Dean asked him.

Castiel took stock of his body. "Well, I think my hip and shoulder are a little bruised as well, but that's all. Nothing else broken."

"You can still breathe okay?"

"Shallowly," Castiel admitted.

"But it doesn't feel like you're drowning?" Dean asked, staring him in the eye.

Castiel shook his head honestly. "No."

Dean nodded, looking slightly relieved. "Okay, well, I guess you just need to stay still and rest up until you start healing. No doing anything crazy and try not to cough."

Sam brought bandages and Castiel allowed him and Dean to wrap them around his chest. The pressure helped the pain a little, but every breath still hurt.

There was also the fact that Sam and Dean were waiting around here, taking care of him while they should be out hunting vampires.

"You can go finish the job," he told them. "I'm just going to be resting here." He didn't want to be alone, afraid that he would start to panic if he started coughing again, but he also knew the Winchesters had a duty and he had no right to ask them to stay for him.

Sam and Dean shared a look, and there was pain in their eyes before they turned back to him. "No, Cas, we'll stay with you," Sam told him.

Castiel furrowed his brow. "But those vampires will be gone by morning, they know you're after them…"

"And what if you need something?" Dean asked him folding his arms over his chest. "Look, you…you almost died a couple weeks ago, Cas. We're still a little shaken up about that, and I know you are too. So we're not gonna leave you alone like that. We'll send an anonymous tip to the British douchebags. They'll take care of those vamps."

Castiel looked between his friends—his brothers—gratefully, and relaxed slightly against the pillows. "Thank you."

"No problem, Cas," Dean said. "Now you just rest up, how about a little TV to pass the time?"

Castiel felt at ease despite the pain he was in and while the TV provided a comforting background noise, it was the chatter of Sam and Dean as they talked about the shows that finally relaxed him enough to fall asleep and allow his grace to begin healing his body. He began to think that, maybe…maybe he did truly belong there after all.


	27. Day Twenty-Seven: "I Can't Walk"

Dean picked himself up from the ground, shaking his head to clear it. Rawheads were usually vicious, pretty animalistic, but this one seemed to have a particular beef against hunters. It had come after them with a freaking baseball bat. As if it wasn't enough that they'd had to chase it deep into the forest, it hadn't stood still for them to gank. At least this time, Dean hadn't been standing in a puddle of water when he'd tazed the thing to death—he did not want a repeat of that.

That hadn't stopped the rawhead from flinging him into a tree, though, which had not been fun. But it was dead now, and that was all that mattered.

Dean groaned as he straightened and stared at the steaming corpse.

"Well, another job done," he muttered as he turned to Sam who was still on the ground, looking like he was trying to pick himself up and failing. Dean instantly went on alert. "Sammy?"

His younger brother cringed and grabbed onto a large rock, using it to haul himself to his feet. However, the instant he straightened up, he instantly cried out and collapsed back on the ground.

"Sam!" Dean was already hurrying toward his brother, crouching to grip his shoulder. "What's wrong? Where are you hurt?"

Sam winced, his hand clutching his lower leg. "It caught me with the bat pretty bad after it got me on the ground."

Dean was already pulling up Sam's jeans and loosening his shoe to check out the injured area. He hissed as he saw the obvious swelling in Sam's ankle. His shoe and sock were both tight but Dean slipped them off as carefully as he could and probed the area. Sam cried out in agony, his whole body tense.

"Looks broken," Dean said grimly, running a hand over his face. And they were hell and gone from the road where he had left the Impala.

Sam gritted his teeth as Dean stood up and reached back down for him. "You think you can stand?"

"I'll try," Sam said breathlessly. He grabbed Dean's hands and Dean hauled his little brother into a standing position. Sam paled instantly, looking like he was going to be sick. Dean wrapped Sam's arm around his shoulders and his own around his brother's waist to support him, but Sam couldn't even put pressure on his leg to stand, let alone take a step. The first step Dean tried, he found himself bearing his brother's entire weight while Sam nearly passed out from the pain.

"Hey, you good?" he said worriedly, as he gently eased his brother back against the rock. "Take a moment to get your breath."

Sam shook his head, breathing heavily. "Dean, I…I can't walk."

Dean crouched down in front of him again. "Sammy, come on we got to get out of here and get you taken care of."

But Sam shook his head again. "No, just go and bring help back."

Dean glowered at him. "I sure as hell am not leaving you out here alone, unable to run. What if there was something else out here besides that rawhead?"

Sam let out a deep breath. "But, Dean, how am I supposed to get out of here? I told you, I can't walk!"

"Okay," Dean shrugged. "Then I'll carry you."

Sam's eyes blew wide. "What? Are you serious? Dean, come on…"

"No, you come on," Dean told him firmly. "No arguments. You can't walk, I'll carry you."

"I'm not a kid anymore, Dean," Sam protested.

"Yeah, and my back's gonna be reminding me of that tomorrow, but I'm getting you out of here, little brother."

Sam sighed and seemed to give in then, some relief washing over him. Dean knew he didn't really want to be left out there alone with a gimp leg.

"Okay," he said softly.

"Okay," Dean repeated and helped Sam up for just a second. "You're gonna have to help me a little though."

Sam nodded and Dean turned his back to him and crouched. Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders and kicked off the ground with his good foot as Dean staggered into an upright position. He grunted, and it took a moment to get Sam settled comfortably, but even though he was a hell of a lot heavier, a piggyback ride was just the same as it had been when they were younger. And it would be a lot more comfortable for Sam than being draped over his shoulders in a fireman's carry the whole way back.

"You good?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, you?" Sam replied.

Dean grunted. "I'll make it. Just hold on and don't go dead weight on me, or I might drop you."

Sam huffed a laugh against the back of his head and held on tighter.

It wasn't an easy trip back, and Dean didn't want to take a break, for fear he wouldn't be able to get Sam onto his back again, but eventually, they made it back to the place they'd left the Impala and then it just took a little maneuvering to get Sam into the car.

"Alright, let's get you to the hospital so we can get that ankle taken care of," Dean told him.

Sam let out an exhausted sigh as he leaned back in the seat. "Thanks, Dean," he said.

Dean smiled, ignoring the muscle strain in his back that was only going to be worse the next day. "Hey, just 'cause you're bigger than me doesn't mean I can't still carry my little brother. I'll always carry you, Sammy."

He thought he caught some wetness in Sam's eyes as his younger brother nodded. "I know," he said with a certainty that warmed Dean's heart. He started the car, and sped off to the nearest town to get Sam taken care of.


	28. Day Twenty-Eight: Severe Illness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning! Spoilers for 14x3

Sam stared at the wastebasket in the library, a worried furrow between his brows. This wasn't a good sign. Memories of his illness during the Trials came back to him, coughing up blood, trying and failing to keep it from Dean—was Dean trying to keep something from him now? They still didn't know everything that Michael had done to him. Even though Dean seemed fine, Sam knew his brother was an expert at concealing his pain, both mental and physical.

Cas walked into the library then and Sam checked to make sure Dean wasn't following him before he motioned him over.

"Cas, hey, um…have you noticed Dean acting…off?"

Cas frowned. "Well, he has seemed distant since Michael and rightfully so, but we expected that. Why, what's wrong?"

Sam shrugged helplessly. "Nothing really, it's just…I found this." He picked up the wastebasket and showed Cas the bloody tissues someone had tucked inside. The angel's eyes widened.

"You think these are Dean's?" Cas asked.

"I don't know what to think," Sam said. "He's been keeping himself to himself mostly. He doesn't look hurt, but…"

Cas pressed his lips into a thin line. "I did check him for damage when I searched his memories, and I didn't see anything, but…after what happened with Nick, and everything, I don't think we really understand what happens to an archangel's vessel after—"

"You talking about me again?" Dean came up behind them, making Sam and Cas both start guiltily.

"No, we're just…" Cas tried as Dean shoved forward.

"What are you looking at?" he demanded and frowned into the trash Sam still held. His eyes widened with confusion and worry, glancing up between the two of them. "Are those either of yours?"

"No," Sam said firmly putting the trash aside. "We were worried they were yours."

"Sammy, for the last time, I'm fine. At least…psychically, anyway."

"Okay, so maybe another hunter," Sam said, but there was a gnawing worry in his stomach that he was missing something.

"Well, you can interrogate your crew, Chief, I'm not gonna play mom to a bunch of squatting hunters." He looked around. "Have you seen Jack today? I was gonna help the kid train."

Cas frowned. "He hasn't been feeling well. I think he may have caught a cold."

"Oh, well, I'll go see if he's feeling up to it. Maybe some firearms training then," Dean said and walked off toward the dormitory wing.

Sam turned back to Cas. "Well, it's not Dean at least. So that still leaves the question—"

"Sam, Cas!" Dean's voice called frantically from down the halls and Sam and the angel rushed out of the library. Sam had no idea what they would find, but he hadn't expected the scene they came upon.

Dean was in Jack's room, the door open, and the elder Winchester was kneeling on the floor beside a crumpled figure.

"Jack!" Cas cried, rushing inside and crouching on the opposite side of Dean.

"Oh god," Sam breathed. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Dean said helplessly, checking Jack over for injuries. "He was just lying here when I got in."

Cas pressed a hand to Jack's forehead, a frown creasing his forehead. "He's very warm."

"You said he was sick," Sam said, bending over to help.

"Yeah, but you don't usually collapse from a generic cold," Dean said grimly.

Jack's eyes fluttered then and he shifted, a moan escaping his throat.

"Jack," Cas said, reaching down and helping him into a sitting position. "Are you okay?"

Jack glanced at all three of them, looking slightly embarrassed. "Y-yeah, I'm okay…"

"Jack, you were on the floor, unconscious," Sam said. "I don't think you're okay."

"I am, I just—" Jack stopped with a cough. He doubled over as wet hacks tore from his chest and pressed his hands over his mouth. When he pulled them away Sam's stomach plummeted as he saw the red staining his palms and lips.

"Oh, Jack," Cas murmured.

Jack looked at them with something akin to defeat, exhaustion. "I—I haven't been feeling too well." His eyes rolled up in his head and he sagged sideways. Sam and Cas caught him before he could hit the floor.

Dean was on his feet, turning the covers down on the bed. "Let's get him in bed."

Sam and Cas picked up Jack's limp form and Sam suddenly realized how frail the boy was. He was always skinny, yeah, but there was less flesh between his skin and bones than there had been before.

Dean grabbed some washcloths and wet one to clean Jack's hands and face of blood. Jack stirred again and whimpered as Cas tucked the blanket around him.

"Jack, hey," Sam said, crouching beside the bed and settling a gentle hand on Jack's shoulder. "Is there anything we can get for you?"

Jack's eyes were wet and he sniffed. "What's wrong with me?"

Sam looked up at Cas and Dean, but they both looked just as helpless as he felt. Cas came and sat on the side of the bed, reaching out to rub a hand down Jack's back soothingly. "We don't know, Jack, but we will find out, and we will get you better, okay?"

"Jack, why would you hide this from us?" Sam asked softly. "How long has this been going on?"

Jack sniffed again. "Maybe a week? I just…we needed to find Michael, and…and I didn't want to—to be a burden or—or cause anymore problems so…"

"Oh, Jack," Cas sighed reaching up to stroke Jack's hair away from his face as a tear slid down the boy's cheek. "You're not a burden. You're family."

"That's right," Dean added. "And Michel is not a priority if family is this bad off. You don't have to hide that you're hurting, kid."

Sam reached out and took his hand, squeezing. "Exactly. You need to take care of yourself too."

Jack's chest hitched in a sob but it turned into another cough and he curled into himself, some blood spattering onto the sheets before he covered his mouth again. Cas steadied him and he was sobbing by the time the coughing fit was done. Dean handed Sam the wet cloth and Sam gently cleaned the blood from Jack's skin again.

"Am I dying?" Jack whispered shakily.

Sam felt a lump in his throat, glancing up at Cas who looked haggard and helpless, but it was Dean who stepped in and said, "Not on our watch. We'll get you better, Jack. Whatever this is, we'll fix it."

Jack sniffed. "I just…it hurts," he admitted.

"I know," Sam said softly, squeezing Jack's hand again. "But we're here for you, Jack. You don't have to go through this alone."

"We'll figure this out," Cas told him, his hand carding through Jack's hair still. But just rest for now, okay?"

Jack reached up to wipe his eyes, looking almost ashamed as he asked, "Can—can you stay?"

"Of course," Cas told him firmly.

Jack relaxed slightly and Sam swallowed hard. "I'm gonna go get you something to drink and something for the pain," he said.

Sam left the room before the weight crushing him showed. Just when they got one win…but, no, he couldn't think of it like that. Jack was suffering and he needed them. Whatever it was, they would figure it out too. They just needed to focus on Jack right now.

Sam took a steadying breath at that thought, making it his priority. Because whatever else happened, they would figure out how to get Jack better, of that he was certain.

There really was no other option.


	29. Day Twenty-Nine: Seizure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is a tag to 11x3 but is technically set after "Baby"

Cas seemed quiet, or quieter than usual, since he wasn't exactly much of a talker anyway, but Dean worried because he knew Cas was suffering from the trauma and the guilt of what he had done while under Rowena's attack dog spell. Not only had he beat Dean into the ground, but he'd run rabid cross-country and been forced to kill two angels. Now, Dean knew they'd given him no other choice, and they had tortured him—he and Sam had had to patch up Cas' wounds—and it had really all been the spell, but Cas always felt bad when he had to kill angels.

He didn't want to leave the angel alone, but Cas needed rest, and there was a hunt to do, so he and Sam had gone to take care of some 'ghoulpires' and gotten the crap beaten out of them before they made it back home to the bunker.

"Dammit," Dean muttered as he looked at Baby after parking her in the garage. She had gotten the crap beat out of her too. "It's gonna take me all week to fix her up again."

Sam huffed and settled a hand on Dean's shoulder, mostly to steady himself since his leg was screwed up. "We'll fix her, Dean, but let's get ourselves cleaned up first."

Dean nodded in weary agreement and let Sam lean on him as they made their way into the bunker.

"Hey, Cas, we're back," he called.

The angel appeared after a few seconds, and Dean almost did a double-take. He looked terrible. He had taken off his coat and shoes and tie, and his shirt with the rolled up sleeves looked like he had been sleeping in it for a week, except the dark circles under his eyes told that he hadn't gotten any rest.

"Hey," he said, then his eyes widened in shock as he took in the state of the two Winchesters. "You look terrible."

"Yeah, right back at you," Dean couldn't help but say. "Cas, we told you to rest, you look like you've pulled three all-nighters and got thrown down a mountain."

The angel looked weary, but didn't protest. "I'm still recovering."

Yeah, no kidding. He eased Sam into a chair and bent to inspect his injured leg better as Cas hovered.

"I may be able to heal you still," he offered.

"Cas, no, you need to reserve your strength," Sam protested. "Like you said, you're still recovering."

"But you're badly injured," Cas protested. "That wound on your leg is deep, Sam; and Dean, you have cracked ribs, concussion…I'm surprised you were able to drive home."

"Cas, really, we're fine. We've had worse," Dean tried to say.

But Cas was already reaching out for them, pressing two fingers to each of their foreheads and closing his eyes as he concentrated. But instead of the familiar warmth of healing, there was nothing but a static feeling, and all of a sudden, Cas let out a strangled sound, and started shaking, jerking away in surprise.

"Cas?" Dean demanded, then surged forward as the angel collapsed on the ground. "Cas!"

Cas' body shook uncontrollably, his eyes rolled back in his head as his flailing limbs clattered against the floor.

"He's having a seizure!" Sam cried. He and Dean both were crouched beside him, Dean hurriedly dragging Cas' upper body against him and forcing the angel's arms against his chest as Sam leaned heavily on his legs.

"What the hell is this?" Dean demanded as he felt Cas shudder uncontrollably against him, his body still trying to jerk out of Dean's grip. "We broke the spell, he shouldn't be doing this again!"

Blood was dripping from the corner of Cas' mouth and Dean hoped it was from a bitten tongue. Sam hurriedly yanked his belt off with one hand and Dean helped him force it between Cas' teeth so he wouldn't do himself any more harm.

It seemed like forever that they held him there on the floor, waiting out the seizure and feeling helpless as they watched their friend suffer. But finally Cas stopped shuddering and went limp with only a few twitches. Dean propped Cas up with one arm and tentatively patted his face.

"Cas? Hey man, come on, wake up." He slipped the belt from Cas' now slack mouth and saw Cas' eyes flutter. He groaned and his heal lolled against Dean's shoulder before he fully opened his eyes. He seemed somewhat confused and reached up a shaky hand to wipe blood from his mouth.

"Dean?" he murmured. "Sam? What—what happened?"

"You had a seizure or something," Sam said, concern clear on his face.

"Oh," Cas said softly.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Oh? That's it?"

Cas looked aside and attempted to straighten up, and Dean reluctantly helped him sit, a hand propping him up. "I—I already had one earlier."

Sam's eyes flew open and Dean gaped at the angel. "Seriously? How many have you had?"

"Just the two." Cas shook his head. "I don't think it's anything dangerous, just…the spell, it attacked my grace. It's taking a while for it to recharge and it's spasming."

"Then why the hell did you try to heal us?" Dean demanded.

Cas looked sheepish. "I didn't know that would happen."

"Still, Cas you would have only made yourself weaker," Sam said, more softly than Dean. "You need to take care of yourself too."

The angel ducked his head, clasping his hands in his lap, but he nodded. "I know. I'm sorry I'm so weak. I—I'm not much good to you right now."

Dean and Sam shared a look. Dean bit his lip and sighed, before turning back to Cas and making sure the angel was looking at him.

"Cas, man, listen to me. We don't care that you need to take some time off, we just want you to get well, okay? And I expect you to rest up until you feel stronger, and your grace starts to recharge—and no lying." He grunted as he shifted on the hard floor and his beaten body twinged. "I mean, we're all going to need some R&R for the next couple days."

Cas sighed in agreement. "Okay."

"And this time, you're actually going to rest," Dean told him as he somehow managed to get himself to his feet and reached down for Sam and then Cas. The three of them steadied each other as they moved toward the dormitory wing. "Now let's get you into a bed so you don't crack your skull if you have another seizure. And no more trying to use your grace until you're feeling better."

Cas huffed, but didn't protest. He was exhausted and Dean deposited him into his bed, watching as Cas curled on his side, clutching the pillow under his head. Dean went to turn the light off, hoping the angel would sleep or recharge or whatever, but Cas stopped him.

"Dean…leave it on," he said softly and Dean caught his eyes, so akin to Sam when he was a kid and still scared of the dark that Dean halted.

"Sure, Cas," he said. "Just…let us know if you need anything."

The angel nodded and Dean left the door open, just in case Cas had another seizure or a nightmare. They were all pretty messed up, but even though they needed to find out what to do with the Darkness, Dean knew it was also important they take a few days to recover.

Besides, after everything they had gone through, he thought they were entitled.


	30. Day Thirty-Caregiver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little S10 AU in this one

Dean Winchester would never go so far as to call himself anything like a 'caregiver' but he did try to do everything he could for the people he cared about. Even though he was garbage at handling emotional crap and usually made things worse in that category before he made them better, he liked to think that when it really came down to it, he could offer a little comfort.

And tending wounds, that was easier. He could suture and bandage wounds, he could cure a fever, or find a potion to break a spell—he could sell his soul to bring his baby brother back to life.

Those things were easier. They offered him something he could fix, just like his Baby. Dean kept her mint, he kept her polished and oiled and tuned, just like he tried to do with his family. When she was running poorly, he took out a wrench and ratchet. When Sam was hurt, he took out the needle and thread. It wasn't really all that hard when you thought of it, and maybe sometimes some encouraging words would slip through too. Reassurances that everything would be fine.

But even if Dean couldn't find the words he wanted to say, the motions, the sometimes gruff, but also ultimately soft care that he offered always said what his tongue couldn't seem to form. And often, just his being there was reassurance enough.

XXX

Sam might have gone through some rough times with Dean, they may have fought, and more recently than he would like to say, the scars still fresh, but there was no one Sam would rather have at his side than his big brother when he was feeling this poorly.

The Trials were really taking their toll on him and he couldn't hide it from Dean anymore, not that he had been hiding anything, Dean had just been giving him his space. But as soon as he started hacking his lungs up and running a fever, that was the last straw for his brother.

He remembered falling asleep in the library and Dean rousing him and hauling him groggily to his feet, slinging Sam's arm over his shoulder as he stumbled.

"Come on, kiddo, you are getting to bed."

"But…"

"Nu-uh," Dean said firmly. "No arguments."

And Sam didn't argue. He let Dean put him to bed, plumping his pillows, spreading a thin sheet over him so he wouldn't get chilled and he wouldn't overheat. He fetched a bowl of water and a cloth and pressed it against Sam's forehead, bathing his heated face. His fever was high, and it felt so good to have that coolness. Dean propped him up against his shoulder when he had a coughing fit. His body was so tired, so frail he could barely support himself. His lungs burned, feeling like there was glass inside them every time he breathed. But Dean's solid form holding him up was a comfort he wouldn't give up for the world, and though he knew how helpless Dean felt at only being able to offer comfort—since there was no cure for what Sam had—for Sam that was enough. It was always enough.

He sagged back onto the pillows after an extremely violent coughing fit, the taste of blood in his mouth making him nauseous. But then Dean's hand was slipping behind his head, raising it and pressing a glass of water to his lips. Sam drank and closed his eyes, exhausted. He heard Dean set the glass aside and then felt his hand on his forehead, before Dean smoothed his palm over Sam's sweaty hair.

"Just get some sleep, Sammy," Dean told him.

"'kay," Sam murmured, then cracked his eyes open just a little. "'Night, Jerk."

Dean's face lit up slightly, and a small smile pulled at his lips. "'Night, Bitch."

XXX

Castiel hadn't felt this bad since…well, he had never really felt this bad. The worst he had ever felt probably was when he had overtaxed himself traveling back in time with the Winchesters. But this was worse. The foreign grace was burning him out. He had retired to his room in the bunker, unable to do anything but lay down, and now that they had found Dean again, he had nothing to drive him.

He thought he might be dying.

He heard Sam and Dean talking out in the hall.

"I had no idea it was this bad," Sam was saying and there was some guilt in it. "You know how Cas hides his injuries…"

"It's okay, Sam, I know," Dean cut in. "But now we'll see what we can do to get him back to health. Go look for leads."

The door opened and Castiel almost groaned. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted to sleep. But Dean came in quietly and leaned over his bed.

"Hey buddy," he said and pressed the back of his hand to Castiel's forehead. Cas tried not to stare at the Mark still peeking out of Dean's sleeve but it was hard not to. Dean may not be a demon anymore, but their troubles weren't over. Castiel had no right to stay in bed. He couldn't fade away yet.

"Damn, you're burning up," Dean grunted and left for a moment before he came back with a wet cloth which he placed over Castiel's forehead. The angel moaned in relief, wondering how it could feel that good. It helped to ease the heat and the headache he'd had for days.

"I'll be fine," Castiel mumbled.

"Come on, Cas," Dean said, sitting on the side of the bed with a sigh. "I know that grace is burning you out. Sam and I are trying to find leads on where that douchebag Metatron might have hidden it."

"It'll be too hard to find," Castiel protested. "And Metatron will never give it up."

"We'll find it, Cas," Dean said firmly, and reached out to turn the cloth that had already gotten warm from Cas' body heat. He moved his hand down to grip Castiel's shoulder, and again the Mark was revealed, stabbing Castiel in the gut like a knife. "But until then, man, we're gonna look after you. I know I can't do much, but just let me know what we can do to keep you comfortable."

Castiel sighed heavily and slumped even further on the bed. He stared pointedly at the Mark and then looked up at Dean. "Just…just be you."

Dean's grip on his shoulder tightened slightly, but his expression didn't change. He simply got up, tugging his sleeve down so the Mark was no longer visible, then pulled a blanket over Castiel and replaced the cool cloth again before hauling a chair over to the side of the bed.

"I think I can manage that," he said.

And with this strange role-reversal of Dean watching over him, Castiel was finally able to succumb to sleep, preserving what little strength he had left.

XXX

But even though Dean always took care of everyone else, and maybe even because of that, when he crashed, he crashed hard. Sam didn't know if it was because of the Mark taking its toll on his brother, or Dean's depression and him running himself into the ground, or just the common flu; maybe it was a combination of all of those things, but whatever it was, he was down for the count.

Sam woke one morning after a hunt to find his brother vomiting in the bathroom and upon further inspection, he was running a very high fever; probably why he was no nauseous.

"I'm good," Dean tried to protest as Sam and Cas tried to help him back to his room, even though Dean was swaying and could barely keep his feet himself.

"Dean, please," Sam said gently as he lowered his brother into the bed, and Cas brought a wet cloth from the bathroom.

"I don't need to be coddled," Dean grumbled, slapping Cas' hand away as he tried to feel Dean's forehead.

"It's not coddling, Dean, we're just taking care of you," Sam told him firmly. He could already seen Dean's shields falling, as he allowed Cas to put the cloth on his head.

"You always take care of us," Cas told him. "It's our turn to take care of you."

Dean huffed, but let his eyes slid shut as he said. "Fine. Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam whispered back and pulled a blanket over his brother.


	31. Day Thirty-One: Showdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, everyone this is the final Whumptober story! Thank you so much to everyone who read and reviewed these, I had so much fun writing them and I'm so glad to hear you guys enjoyed them ^_^
> 
> For the final one, I did a longer one shot, and also it's another Season 14 speculative. I thought this made a good end to the Whumptober series.

It was a stupid plan. Jack knew this well enough. He still felt bad about leaving without Mary and Bobby, but too many people he cared about were already in danger. He couldn't risk having anyone else to watch over. Not now. He had to defeat Michael by himself.

Jack held the archangel blade in his hand as he stood outside of the abandoned warehouse Michael had said to meet in. Some of his grace had recharged, and he knew it wasn't enough to defeat Michael, but…he would have to be.

Jack took a shuddering breath, remembering everything Castiel, Sam and Dean had taught him. What he had learned from Mary and Bobby. His family had trained him well, and they believed in him. He couldn't let them down. Not again.

He steeled himself, and pushed through the door.

XXX

They never should have walked right in there. Dean couldn't help but beat himself up for his stupidity. He had been so eager to take down Michael that he had rushed in without a decent plan and taken Sam and Cas with him. Now all three of them were at Michael's mercy—what little he had of it.

The archangel—wearing a new meatsuit—tsked at them as he strode in front of the wall he had pinned them too.

"You know, with everything Lucifer said about you three, how he warned me, you really are pathetic," Michael scoffed. "I mean, look at you." He strode to Sam first, gripped his chin and slammed his head back against the wall hard. "The boy with the demon blood running through his veins." He shoved Sam roughly against the wall again in dismissal and turned to Cas next, a sneer of disgust on his face. "The fallen angel—pathetic even compared to the paltry remains of your kin." He waved his hand and Cas grimaced, being pressed even harder against the wall. "I'll put you out of your misery soon enough, along with the rest of your brothers and sisters."

He then turned to Dean and the elder Winchester glared at him, trying to hide the terror that was coursing through him. "And you. My sword," Michael smirked and suddenly grabbed Dean roughly by the front of the coat and hauled him away from the wall. "You know, it made me laugh that you even thought I would keep that deal with you," Michael told him. "And then when you couldn't even fight back? Well, let's just say I expected more from the famous Dean Winchester."

He threw Dean to the ground and he hit hard on his back, seeing stars as his head cracked against the floor. He could hear Sam and Cas struggling, but knew how strong Michael was.

The archangel was on top of him, foot stamped firmly into his chest, bearing down on Dean so that his ribs creaked and he couldn't breathe. "What are you going to do now, Dean? Try to take me out? If you promised to cooperate, I could offer you position as my vessel again."

"Never," Dean grunted, trying to wriggle away from Michael, but the archangel stamped hard on his chest and Dean felt a rib crack as all the air was punched from him.

"Then I guess you'll just have to sit around and have a front row seat for when I take over this pathetic world." He took his foot away and yanked Dean up before throwing him against a wall and whipping a knife from his belt which he slammed into Dean's shoulder, pinning him with a scream of pure agony to the wall.

"Dean!" Sam and Cas shouted, still struggling, and Michael slowly turned to them, waving his hand. They collapsed on the ground and through his haze of pain, Dean watched as Michael kicked Sam in the face as he tried to scramble to his feet.

"Ah-ah," Michael said warningly, stomping on Sam's hand and grinding his heel in. Sam groaned in pain, groveling. "Stay. You're gonna want to watch the show."

Cas was getting to his hands and knees and Dean wanted to warn him not to, but it was too late. Michael lashed out and grabbed the angel around the throat, squeezing so hard, Cas croaked, his eyes bulging. Michael raised him off the ground as Cas dug his nails into Michael's hand, trying to force him to let go.

"Really, Castiel, your pathetic resistance is getting so old," Michael grunted before he dropped the angel to the ground. Cas choked and gasped in a sharp breath, gripping his throat. Michael took his boot from Sam's hand and Dean's younger brother pulled it toward his body gingerly as he reached his other hand out to grip Cas' shoulder.

"Hm," Michael studied the scene with his head cocked to one side. "We're just missing a little blood."

He clenched his fist and Sam and Cas suddenly doubled over, retching up blood as they clutched at their stomachs, groaning in agony.

"Let them go, you son of a bitch!" Dean snarled, trying to keep his legs from giving out so as not to put any more pressure on the knife impaling him. "It's me you really want."

"Is it?" Michael cocked an eyebrow, amused. "Because until you allow me use of my vessel, Dean, you are worth nothing." He clenched his hand again and Sam and Cas cried out, writhing as they only coughed up more blood.

"So, what's it going to be, Dean?" Michael asked, pulling out another knife and twirling it over his fingers.

The door to the warehouse suddenly slammed open and Dean looked up to see a thin figure standing in the entryway. His heart rose to his throat and his shallow breaths caught abruptly.

Jack.

Michael smiled and turned, opening his arms wide. "Welcome to the party, kid."

XXX

Jack took the scene in at a glance, Michael standing in the center of the room, his arms wide in a mocking welcome, but what really caught Jack's attention were his friends. Sam and Cas lay on the ground, doubled over in pain, blood spattered around them, and Dean was pinned against the far wall, a dagger driven through his shoulder. Anger boiled inside of Jack at the sight of his friends, his family, in pain. He stepped forward, holding the archangel blade firmly in his grasp.

"Stop hurting them," he commanded. "Let them go."

Michael raised an eyebrow. "Let them go? Are you sure?"

Before Jack could say anything else, Michael turned and ripped the dagger from Dean's shoulder. The elder Winchester screamed in agony and collapsed to the ground. Michael kicked him in the side, which caused Dean to let out a sharp breathless yelp and curl into himself.

"Stop! That's not what I meant!" Jack yelled, striding forward.

"My apologies," Michael said. "Perhaps I need to remind you who is making the terms here. And it certainly isn't some jumped up nephillim with no powers to speak of." He clenched his hand into a fist and Sam and Cas cried out and retched up blood.

Jack, breathing heavily, spun back around to Michael. "I'm not powerless. I've gotten some of my powers back."

Michael chuckled. "Oh is that so? Well, go ahead then, son, give me your best shot." He spread his arms and braced himself.

Jack raised a hand, channeling all his fears and anger at what Michael was doing to his family and focused it into his grace. He closed his eyes and pushed. His head ached from the strain, but he could feel his powers working, flowing out of him, and focusing toward Michael.

He opened his eyes as they flashed gold, and saw the wave of his powers flow toward the archangel.

The blast ruffled Michael's hair and clothes but did nothing else. Jack pulled back and felt a heavy weight on his whole body. He sagged, collapsing to one knee with an inhalation of breath, defeat washing over him.

"Jack," Sam gasped softly, his voice worried.

Michael chuckled derisively. "Is that all you've got, boy?" He strode forward and grabbed Jack by the front of his shirt hauling him up. "I'll teach you what power is." He shoved Jack backwards and then shot out a hand, slamming it into Jack's chest. The nephillim felt the archangel's powers force him backwards where he slammed into a wall before he crumpled onto the ground. The archangel blade clattered out of his hand and rolled away. He tried to scramble up and reach for it, but Michael was already on top of him. The archangel kicked him in the ribs, and then slammed a fist into his face. Jack collapsed, but tried to scramble up. Unfortunately, Michael wasn't having that and he simply picked Jack up by the back of his coat like a ragdoll and flung him across the room to skid to a halt near Dean who was coming to and moaning. The elder Winchester reached out and gripped Jack's arm.

"You okay kid?" he whispered.

Jack swallowed hard and managed a jerky nod as he began to pull himself to his hands and feet.

"Pathetic," Michael muttered as he straightened his sleeves and strode over to Cas and Sam and bent down to grab the angel by the hair, hauling him onto his knees.

"Don't!" Sam cried, but Michael kicked him in the head, sending him back to the floor, stunned.

"You look like you can use a little fire, Jack," Michael said and pulled out a blade. He wrenched Cas' head back and put the steel to his exposed throat. "So I'm going to kill your surrogate father while you watch. You may thank me for this after all."

"No!" Jack cried, already surging to his feet and reaching into his coat pocket, before leaping at Michael just as he started cutting into Castiel's throat. Jack slammed his brass-covered knuckles into Michael's face.

The archangel staggered back, releasing Cas and swung back around to Jack, touching his bleeding lip with shock.

"What…?" he breathed as Jack squared his jaw and held up the brass knuckles that Mary had given him.

"Enochian brass knuckles," he said. "Work on angels."

"You little…" Michael surged forward but was tackled to the ground as Cas surged to his feet.

"Jack, run!" the angel cried getting a couple hits in before Michael gained the upper hand, throwing a punishing blow to Castiel's face before he slammed his knee into the angel's ribs, shoving him to the ground were Cas landed heavily.

Michael spun back around, smoothing his hair down, his face furious now. "I've had enough of this. You're going to die, you little pissant! All of you are going to die!"

Jack held his ground, and managed to land several more blows to Michael as he came at him, one particularly satisfying one to his ribs, before the archangel simply grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off the ground. His other hand came up and latched around Jack's right hand, twisting until something cracked and Jack let out a breathless yelp. The brass knuckles clattered to the ground, and he dangled there, Michael's hand like a vice around his throat.

"Take a good look, Jack, this is the last you'll see of your pathetic family," Michael snarled.

Jack saw movement out of the corner of his eye and suddenly Dean was slamming a blade into Michael's back. The archangel screamed and dropped Jack. It wasn't the archangel blade, but it had been enough.

Cas had somehow gotten the brass knuckles and slammed a punishing blow into Michael's face, causing him to fall to one knee. Sam was on his feet now too, and the three of them had grabbed hold of Michael, holding him down.

"Jack, the blade!" Cas cried and Jack looked to his right, seeing the blade only feet from him.

He lunged for it, scrambling to his feet, and flew toward Michael who the others were struggling to hold.

"No one hurts my family," Jack snarled, brandishing the blade. "And you'll never hurt anyone else again." He stabbed the blade down into Michael's heart and the archangel's eyes and mouth flew open in shock before he started to glow. They all jumped back as fire and grace exploded from his eyes and mouth along with an agonized scream of anger. Jack ducked his head and was just barely aware that three figures were huddling around him in a protective circle.

And then it was over. The screaming stopped, the light died away and the air was now permeated with the burned ashes of feathers, floating around them. Jack lifted his head and glanced at the body lying on the ground a few yards away, eyes burned out, and wing prints spread on the ground around it.

He let out a shuddering breath, as he heard the exhales from the three men surrounding him.

"Jack, you did it," Sam whispered.

"No," Jack said softly, looking at all three of them in turn. "We did."

Tears streamed down his face then and Cas took him in his arms. Soon all four of them were leaning against each other, all of them injured, but yet unwilling to move at that moment. Their relief was palpable as arms wrapped around shoulders, linking the small group together.

The door swung open and hurried footsteps rushed inside.

"Boys!" Mary called and Jack looked up to see her and Bobby rushing in with weapons ready before they came to a halt, staring in shock at Michael's dead body.

"He's dead?" Mary breathed.

"Yeah, sorry you missed the party," Dean grunted, pulling away from the group slightly and pressing a hand to his injured shoulder.

"I'll be damned," Bobby murmured in awe as he went over and kicked the body before he turned to stare at the four. "So it's finally over."

"Yeah, it's finally over," Sam said.

"You really did it, Jack," Mary said softly, a fond, proud expression on her face. "I knew you could."

Jack gave her a wavering smile. "We all did. I could never have done it without all of you."

Cas squeezed his shoulder. "That was all you, Jack, you didn't even need your powers."

"No," Jack agreed his smile deepening. "I had my family. That's worth more than anything else."

"Damn straight," Dean said and ruffled his hair.

"But you boys are all beat to hell," Bobby said gruffly. "What do you say we get you home?"

Jack nodded and they limped out of the warehouse, bloody, injured, but feeling good with the knowledge that they had finally won the fight to save the world yet again.

Jack glanced around at his family. He didn't know what was in store for them next, but he knew that whatever it was, they could handle it, especially if they worked together.

Right now though, he was looking forward to a nice long rest.

 


End file.
